Levitate
by winds81
Summary: Released from Azkaban, Rabastan finds himself struggling with a new world order that includes Hermione Granger as the rightful owner of the Lestrange fortune. Determined to regain control of his family's heritage, they find themselves unexpectedly thrust into a journey across Europe together to discover the true and final Death Eater legacy.
1. Chapter 1

The sun was almost a little too bright, and the sky almost a little too clear as Rabastan wandered down the path that lead towards his ancestral family estate. After so many years in the dingy cells of Azkaban, the cheery rays of light hurt his eyes as they bounced off the white gravel road. It had been his father's decision to pave the road with light quartz to accent the cream exterior of their home and he'd loved the picture it created as a child – exuding opulence as one approached their house. Today, however, he would have preferred something a little darker.

It felt awkward walking up to the expansive manor, a place that he hadn't been in over a decade. The estate that he'd called home for his formative years was now almost more foreign to him than the formidable prison that had housed him for almost half his life. In between his first stay in Azkaban and his second he'd spent most of his time at Malfoy Manor, avoiding their home to evade recapture. His lips twisted momentarily in a smirk as he realized that at least at Azkaban he could be assured of a few meals per day. Suddenly finding himself released into the wizarding world once again, without access to his vaults and with a significant stain on his family name, made his future even less certain than endless, drudging days within Azkaban.

He had been quite surprised just a few weeks ago when he was told that he would be up for parole and possible release. He was even more surprised 4 days ago when he'd been abruptly informed his sentence had been revisited, and he would be free to go that weekend. This morning he'd been removed from his cell, given the opportunity to take a cold shower and shave, suited in ill fitting clothes, handed a suitcase with any remaining of his effects, and essentially shoved out the front door of the prison. A short boat ride and a mocking salute later, and he'd found himself unceremoniously restored as a member of society. He still believed it was a trick.

He'd known that his brother had been removed from the prison two years prior, and placed into protective custody after being repeatedly harassed by guards. He'd heard nothing from, or about, him until two days prior to his release. He'd received a short note penned in his brother's handwriting telling him that he was being housed at their family's home, and Rabastan was welcome to join them upon release. Apparently, news traveled fast when it came to ex-death eaters.

His journey home had been slow. Understandably, many people were suspicious of the raggedy looking man carrying a single suitcase, traveling away from the direction of the infamous prison. Some recognized him, and scurried in the opposite direction. Some openly glared at him with unmasked hostility. A few seemed to take pity, and managed to help him secure safe passage up to the last mile from his home. From there, he had decided to walk, though at an admittedly slower pace than he might have in years past. He soaked up the feeling of the sun on his skin for the first quarter mile, and cursed it for the last three quarters as his polyester suit trapped heat against his skin. The breeze was wonderful, but not nearly frequent enough to prevent him from sweating unattractively by the time he arrived at their gates.

As he passed through the ornate gateway, there was the prickle of unfamiliar wards that slipped over his skin and made his hairs stand up. He was left with the feeling as if the only reason he was allowed through at all was due to his familial bond with the home. It was unsettling, especially since his brother had been the one to invite him there. He tried not to question it too closely as the manor loomed before him, looking decidedly well cared for in spite of the lack of inhabitants for the last 10 years. He made his way up the stairs, pushing the front doors open and crossing the threshold into the house.

Once inside, he realized that his initial assumptions about the occupancy of the home were completely inaccurate. There was a hum in the air, the sort of noise that came along with the presence of many bodies. He could hear voices faintly in the rooms above them, and the rush of feet and fabric along the floors around them. There was a loud bark of laughter from a location he knew was close to the kitchen, followed by a crash, and a curse, and another laugh.

He stood in the parlor for a moment, hesitating uncertainly over where he should go. He'd expected a quiet, cold manor, and perhaps some private time with his brother. Instead, this place bustled with life. As he lingered, pondering his next move, someone made his decision for him. A well dressed, blonde haired man trotted down the stairs towards him, easier smile on his face than Rabastan had ever seen, hand held out.

"Rabastan! Rodolphus said something about you possibly coming. I'm glad to see you"

"Malfoy" returned Rabastan, shaking the older man's hand, "I am surprised to see you here"

The look on Malfoy's face changed from welcoming to amused in an instant, lips curling as if he knew the best secret, "Oh, Rodolphus didn't tell you? Well, come this way"

Rabastan frowned a little, shifting his hold on his suitcase as he followed the Malfoy patriarch up the stairs towards the main level of the manor. Turning left towards the kitchen, instead of right towards the bedrooms, he was surprised to be brought directly to the antechamber that traditionally was reserved for family breakfasts. Even more surprising was how the room had been enlarged to accommodate a long wooden table, almost as long as their formal dining table had been, and that it was nearly full of wizards and witches partaking in the first meal of the day. A shriek from above them caused him to pause before he entered the room fully.

"THORFINN ROWLE! WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT ENTERING MY ROOMS? GET OUT YOU INCORRIGIBLE PERVERT OR I WILL FORCIBLY REMOVE YOUR FAVORITE TOY!" A booming laugh he recognized as belonging to one of his former allies filled the air then, and Rabastan's eyes widened as he sought out Lucius's knowing smirk.

"Welcome to Granger's Reformatory for Ex-Death Eaters" he answered without being prompted. Rabastan furrowed his brow. Wasn't Granger the brainy friend of that obnoxious Potter brat?

As if he had been called for, messy black hair entered the room from the other side, and several voices called out their greetings. Peering back around, Rabastan was astonished to see faces from both sides of the war sitting about the table. Red-headed Weasleys sat at the far end, engaged in conversation with a boy he recognized as being Nott's son. Draco Malfoy was talking with the Potter boy, though his eyes kept wandering over to a heavily pregnant blonde girl who was chatting with another slight blonde girl with a dreamy look on her face. A dark skinned young man argued heatedly with Flint's boy, though from the snippets he could pick up he understood it was about Quidditch. Most surprisingly, standing in the corner close to the stove was Antonin Dolohov, arms crossed over his chest, observing the room even as he did. The Russian raised a somber hand in recognition, which Rabastan returned before landing his own eyes on his brother at the end of the table closest to him.

"Dolph?" he asked, tenatively. His brother stood, reflexively, smile on his features as he reached across the table to shake his hand.

"Welcome home, Bast!" he responded before sitting back down, digging back into his oatmeal. Rabastan observed him for a moment. His brother had filled out again, away from the starvation rations of prison life. He still bore the deep lines of life hard lived, but there was a softness about him he hadn't seen in many years. Not, perhaps, since before they'd ever heard of Tom Riddle. For the first time in decades he could see some of the aristocratic visage they'd had as children – high cheekbones, hazel eyes, soft brown hair that was well coifed and cared for. His eyes drifted back up to Lucius's before he caught sight of the person walking in behind them.

"Rowle?" he sputtered, shocked to see the tall man enter the kitchen in spite of just having heard his name cursed within the house. A large grin split the Viking's lips as he reached over Rodolphus's head and shook his hand as well.

"Welcome home, little LeStrange!"

"What are you? How did you...?" he asked, confused. Lucius gestured for him to sit in the open chair across from Rodolphus.

"I'm sure this is all quite confusing for you" started the older Malfoy. Rabastan nodded mutely.

"Malfoy here was the first of us lucky bastards to get house arrest instead of being stuck in Azkaban" supplied Thorfinn, shoving a chunk of pastry into his mouth. Rabastan wrinkled his nose a little at the lack of manners, but the younger man didn't seem to notice.

"Yes, well, perhaps we should start at the beginning" responded Lucius, "I'm sure you know, after the war most of the assets owned by us – Death Eaters I mean – were seized by the ministry. Homes, vaults, even some business holdings"

No, Rabastan didn't know that. He frowned as Lucius continued, "They were then distributed to people who had major roles in the defeat of the Dark Lord. Money seized was and is being funneled towards reparation and charity cases. Most of what we used to own we no longer do. Narcissa had the presence of mind to transfer our estate into Draco's name, and move much of our money into a french bank when it first looked like the Dark Lord was going round the bend. Fortunately, we were able to retain most of what we owned"

"Others, like yourselves, however, weren't quite so lucky" he had the good grace to look a little embarrassed at the information, "Your estate and vaults were given to a war hero"

As if on cue, Hermione Granger entered the room, ignoring them as she headed for the stove. She ruffled Rodolphus's hair affectionately, dropping a kiss on the top of his head with a soft, "Morning Dolph". She squeezed Lucius's shoulder affectionately as she passed him, only bestowing the grinning Thorfinn with a glare as she worked her way towards the stove. Everyone paused as she passed, greeting her familiarly, Death Eater and Order member alike as she wove through the crowd.

"My home belongs to...to..." sputtered Rabastan, unable to completely grasp what was going on. Lucius gave him a mildly chagrined look.

"Ah, yes. Your estate and vaults were awarded to Miss Granger" he replied. Rabastan gaped at him, then looked at his brother.

"How did you end up here, then?" he demanded. Rodolphus shrugged.

"Hermione is nothing if not a bit of a bleeding heart. When news came in about some of us getting mistreated in Azkaban, she demanded that we receive better care. Something about how we should be treated better than how they expected we would treat them. Unfortunately, it got little traction within Azkaban's walls. After a particularly spectacular evening at the mercy of Entwhistle's boot, I was told I was to be transferred the next day"

"Miss Granger had already worked to get me put on house arrest when she found out I'd had pneumonia and wasn't being cared for. I've been told, she gets quite scary when she's angry. Apparently, our minister for magic has been at the receiving end of her mean streak a time or two. He made very quick arrangements to get me transferred back to our own home under Draco and Narcissa's care" interjected Lucius, sharing a slightly cruel smile with Rodolphus.

"So, imagine my surprise when I was summarily shuffled down the hall, through the intake room, shoved through a floo and dumped me out here" continued Rodolphus, "Hermione was here to meet me, with a few of her friends of course. I was in no condition to really fight, and after my first night in a real bed, to be honest I didn't really want to. 15 years with restricted magic is a small price to pay for access to a shower and your own bed"

Now Rabastan was sure he was in an alternate universe. Or, he had actually fallen into a coma in Azkaban and this was some crazy conjuring of his stimulation deprived brain, "And...And you stayed? You just...put up with it?"

Rodolphus regarded him quietly and shrugged again, "Bast, we've spent half our lives either behind bars or enslaved to someone who wouldn't hesitate to kill us for something beyond our control. Toss 15 years of marriage to that insane harpy on that pile, and I'd be happy to spend the rest of my life as a dog if it meant a little peace and quiet"

Rabastan wasn't sure what to say to that. To see his brother, a fearsome man in his own right, essentially giving up to living a life little better than a squib settled uncomfortably in his gut. What happened to preserving their heritage? Protecting their magic from those who would take it? Looking around the room, he realized much had changed while he was hidden away from the rest of the world. People who had tried to kill each other were now chatting as if they were old friends across the table from each other.

As if sensing his disquiet, Lucius started again, "It wasn't always like this. At first, it was just Rodolphus, Miss Granger and a rotating bevvy of Aurors who stayed here. Then, they loosened my reins and allowed me to have access to the Lestrange Estate along with my own home. I'm still confined to the grounds of both. I suspect I always will be"

"Once I started stopping by to visit Rodolphus, Draco would join me as well. He and Potter work together, " he explained, "And because it's Miss Granger, other friends started coming by regularly as well. When Dolohov was found half dead from starvation and abuse, she'd demanded he was remanded to her custody as well. And from there" Lucius gestured to the scene around them.

"Thorfinn was signed over about six months ago" chimed in Rodolphus, "He's been doing an excellent job of driving Hermione round the bend. But, it's nice to have some life back in these old walls"

Rabastan gestured to the group gathered for breakfast, "Does this happen frequently?"

"This?" asked Lucius, and he chuckled, "Oh, this is nothing compared to Thursday night dinners"

Thorfinn leaned over towards them again, "There's only three rules you really need to follow. First – never let Granger cook" The three men shuddered, and again as if it had been directed, Rabastan noticed her reaching for the food already on the stove. At her movement, Dolohov stood up off the wall, gently taking the pans from her and redirecting her to sit with her friends as he took over cooking duty. Behind her head, one of the Weasleys gave him a thumbs up and he snorted back.

"Second, never talk about her parents," supplied Lucius, his visage grim, "The only people who know what happened to them are Granger, Potter and the youngest male Weasley"

"And third is don't start fights with the Order members" chimed in Rodolphus as he finished his breakfast.

"And you just...accept these rules?" asked Rabastan curiously. Rodolphus shrugged.

"They're not that hard to follow. Really, after the initial shock, it's pretty easy to get along"

"I understand that Miss Granger has given you restricted access back to your vaults. She doesn't wish to keep you from what's yours, but there are limitations on what you can withdrawl and spend your money on" said Lucius, "And she's graciously agreed to allow you to live here as long as you would like. Though, she has taken the master suite for her own"

Rabastan felt the familiar prickle of someone watching him, and turned his head to catch chestnut eyes with his own. He was surprised to see the muggleborn woman looking at him. She stood up from her spot at the table, and patted Dolohov on the back as she squeezed behind him and back down the room towards where the three older men were seated. Lucius gave her a beguiling smile that she returned, with a small roll of her eyes. Standing next to Rabastan she reached out her hand.

"Hello, I'm sorry I didn't see you there when I came in. Welcome home, Rabastan" she said softly. He looked at her hand, and then back up at her face mutely, not returning the gesture. A curious look scrolled across her features, and she dropped her arm after a long moment, "I know this is all a lot to take in. Can I assume that Lucius has filled you in on most of the details?" He nodded coolly at her, "Well, any questions you have, please ask. You're free to take any rooms that are open still. I'm sure they told you I've got the master suite, and we have a few permanent guests who have their own set of rooms. But you're welcome to anything that isn't claimed"

"Thank you Miss Granger, for giving me permission to inhabit my own home" he answered roughly. Her eyes widened, and her lips tightened a bit.

"Mr. Lestrange, as difficult as this is for you to understand, this house is no longer yours. Your lost it when you decided to follow a megalomaniac into war and tried to wipe out half of wizarding England, myself included. You were released from Azkaban on my recommendation and at the request of your brother. I understand that a lot has changed, and you will need some time to adjust, but you currently literally own nothing. It is only my great affection for your brother that is allowing you the comfort of even sitting here right now. Do not make the mistake of confusing my kindness for weakness" she bit back sharply, before turning and shoving her way back to her friends. A small smirk stayed on his lips as he turned back to his other compatriots, and was surprised to see them all scowling at him.

"What?" he asked. Thorfinn muttered something under his breath that Lucius nodded at, before he turned to join in the Quidditch debate next to him. Lucius regarded him with cool eyes before standing up and weaving his way over towards the curly haired witch.

"You're an idiot Bast" came Rodolphus's sharp voice from across from him, "I guess some things never change"

Rabastan sat quietly, alone at his end of the table, as his brother stood and left the room abruptly. What fresh hell had he fallen into?


	2. Chapter 2

Rabastan placed his suitcase on the bed in his old rooms, looking around at the familiar walls of his youth. Nothing had changed. The same navy wallpaper with white crown molding, the same shelves lined with the same books, the same four poster king bed with the same duvet, the same rugs on the floor. It was as if he'd never left. He wondered, remotely for a moment, if the elves had kept up with the care of the Manor in their Masters absence, or if it had all been restored when it had been given to Granger.

He sneered as he thought about the curly haired witch. What was she that she could and would be given their house? Who did the Ministry think they were giving away people's belongings and birthrights? His family had settled on this land, carved out a homestead with their own hands generation after generation, poured their own blood, sweat and tears into it's creation and protection, and the Ministry just sought to GIVE that away? And to a mudblood no less. Someone who's very existence defied common wizarding logic.

He opened the large wardrobe and fingered the suits he found there. Expensive, well tailored, but even he could tell they were wildly out of style and likely too large for his currently malnourished frame. It appeared he was going to have to venture out and purchase new clothing at some point in the near future. He was, at least, allowed access to his own money. Lucius hadn't said it outright, but the threat hanging in the air was that some families had no access to the fortunes they'd spent lifetimes creating. Some families went from having all the money they could ever hope for to having none, and simultaneously were thrust out onto the street with no place to go.

There was a soft knock on his door and he turned to find Rodolphus standing at the entry to his room, quiet expression on his features. Rabastan stepped back from his wardrobe beckoning him in, a slightly mollified look on his own face. His brother strode over, looking over his shoulder at the clothes hanging before letting out a small puff of laughter.

"I'm pretty sure those were out of style the first time we got out, brother" he teased, clapping his hand on Rabastan's shoulder. Rabastan laughed and nodded.

"I was just thinking the same thing. I'm going to need to get a new wardrobe, I believe" he answered, closing the doors and stepping away. Rodolphus nodded.

"Hermione asked me to let you know that as you have been released, you are not on house arrest and are welcome to come and go as you please. If you need her help, however, in any way, she's happy to provide it" he said gently. Rabastan raised an eyebrow, and his mouth tightened.

"She really is a goody two-shoes, isn't she?" he muttered, with a dark look. Rodolphus laughed.

"She's a good person, but she's certainly not a goody two-shoes. You definitely don't want to be on the receiving end of her temper" he admitted, a small smile around his mouth, eyes shining with indefinable warmth. Rabastan narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"You love her," he accused. Rodolphus shrugged, not bothering to argue it.

"I do. But not in the way you're implying. Like a sister, Bast. She's like family. Perhaps the first family I've had that didn't expect more from me than just being who I am"

Rabastan's mouth curled down in a frown. What sort of family was that? Wasn't family supposed to push you to be better? Stronger? The best version of yourself you could be? Who was family if they weren't the ones who tried to shape you?

"Look, I'm not going to force you to like the girl, but perhaps try to get to know her. She will be living here with us regardless, and it would be far more pleasant to at least be able to tolerate one other, rather than live in open hostilities" persuaded Rodolphus. Rabastan scowled, but nodded his head. His brother had always been the more even tempered of the two, faster to forgive and forget. He often saw logic when tempers flared, and was quick to diffuse them. Rabastan was more fire and ice, quick to give in to whatever bouts of emotion burned through him, whether it be anger or love. His ire was well known amongst the sacred 28, and was one of the reasons why Voldemort had sought him out.

At the thought of his former master, he glanced down at his left arm, unconsciously rubbing the scarred mark through his dowdy shirt. It had been quiet for a long time, though occasionally it still pained him. There were nights he would wake up to sharp pains shooting along his nerve endings, up through his shoulder that he couldn't control and couldn't respond to. There were moments he both feared and hoped his old master was still alive. And then, the pains would subside as quickly as they'd started, and he'd be left, knowing he was alone once more.

"I'll try, brother, but no guarantees" he answered distractedly. Rodolphus hummed and nodded, clasping his hand on his shoulder once more before wandering towards the doors again.

"It is good to have you home, Bast" he called over his shoulder as he left.

Rabastan sighed, before opening his wardrobe once more. He had to get out of this hideous suit. Grabbing a pair of khaki trousers and a black tee shirt, he eyed the bathroom enviously for a moment. Reparations with the Granger girl were going to have to wait.

Despite his cold shower that morning, he could still feel the stench and grime of Azkaban on his skin. His hair hung lankly around his shoulders and he knew he'd need a good cut sometime in the near future to get rid of the dead lengths and stale smell of old urine that was permanently stuck to it. He turned on the shower, fiddling with the knobs and sighing in appreciation as steam began to rise into the room. He couldn't remember the last hot shower he'd had.

Turning to the sink closest to the door, he was surprised to see a small tray of various vials sitting out on the counter with a small card that said 'Welcome home Rabastan' on it. He didn't recognize the writing, but the vials were practical and important for someone who'd just been released from hell on earth. One was for killing lice, another was for removing oil and grease stains, a third was for helping to heal minor cuts and burns, and the fourth was to help remove ingrained smells. It didn't take much effort to deduce that these were left by Granger, which immediately put him at an inner war with himself. On the one hand, he didn't want to accept anything from her that she might hold over him later. On the other hand, he really didn't want to smell like pee anymore either. Sighing, he allowed her to win this small battle and took them into the shower with him.

The potions in the vials had no discernable scent to them, and were designed to use externally rather than via ingestion. As he finished disinfecting himself, he noted three more appear at the edge of the shower. A shampoo, a conditioner, and a body soap. He cursed inwardly at her thoughtfulness, but allowed himself to concede once more. The smell of pears and honey raised up with the warm steam around them, and settled into his skin. He hated to admit it, but he felt better than he had in years.

Thoroughly scrubbed and deloused, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed the clean towels hanging above the sink. He wrapped one around his waist, and dried his hair with the other, padding over to the mirror to look at himself fully for the first time.

Truthfully, he didn't look as terrible as he'd feared. The scraggly beard he'd grown would have to go, as would the long hair. His eyes, dark blue to his brother's hazel, were haunted with dark circles beneath them and his skin had become pale and sallow from long months hidden away from sunlight. But he still maintained the same high cheekbones, sharp jaw, and well defined lips he'd always had. Perhaps, someday, he'd recognize himself in the mirror again.

He grabbed a shaving kit that was tucked underneath the sink and started by trimming his beard short, before lathering his face. There was a click of his door, and a feminine voice calling out as he began removing the hair in even lines.

"Hermione?"

He paused as he heard the intruder move further into his room, leaning back to look through the open door between his bedroom and the bathroom. A red head – another Weasley he surmised – walked across the room, calling out for the Granger girl again. He cleared his throat, and she stopped short, eyes comically large as they took him in.

"Oh! Not Hermione! Bollocks, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were coming home today. I mean, I know Hermione said there was a chance you'd be released this weekend, I just didn't...She didn't..." she rambled, clearly perusing him as she stammered. He stared at her quietly, until she stopped, "I'll just..."

He chuckled as she fled his room, and finished the job of removing his beard. Drying off his face, he sighed at the lank lengths of his hair. That was something he'd leave to a professional. The last time someone had tried to cut his hair that didn't know what they were doing had resulted in a mess that took the better part of six months to grow out and fix. He was not particularly interested in repeating that experiment.

Finally clean and clothed, he decided to heed his brother's advice and try to track down Granger to make some amends. He had to admit, it wouldn't hurt to get along until he could figure out how to get his home and vaults turned back over to himself. Then, she could go and find her own fortune.

Trotting down the stairs, and a few brief questions later, he found himself directed towards the dungeons where apparently some inventory and organization was occurring. He was surprised, he would have expected the girl to avoid this area of the house, but instead it seemed as if it was normal she would be there. Traveling along the corridor in the lower level, he followed the lighted sconces on the wall to a room at the far back. It appeared that one of the cells had been converted into a storage room, and he could hear voices from inside.

"...And all he was wearing was a towel!" came the first voice – the girl from his room he realized.

"Oh, Ginny, we talked about not just walking into rooms, " came Granger's chagrined voice.

"I don't think you understand, Hermione. He was fit" came the appreciative response. He swore he could hear a little giggle, before the admonishment.

"He's just returned from Azkaban, Ginny. Give him a few weeks before you try to break him in" she answered, teasing tone in her voice.

"That's not what I'm saying!" laughed Ginny, "I have eyes. I can appreciate a fit body when I see one!"

They both laughed now, and Rabastan took that as his cue to walk in. He pushed the door open further, filling up the doorway, causing them to both pause in their laughter. The red head – Ginny – turned bright red at his entrance, and Hermione fell against the wall she was laughing so hard. Ginny turned and poked her friend in the side before scuttling out around him.

"Oh, Merlin. Excellent timing" she said, grinning up at him as she pushed herself up from the wall, laughter subsiding. He couldn't help but return the expression, "I take it you heard that?"

"Most of the important bit" he agreed.

"Well, I'm sorry for the intrusion. I've been trying to get my friends to respect privacy," she paused "And Thorfinn. Though, I think he does it on purpose," she waved a hand, "At any rate, I think I've got them half trained. You may want to put up wards and locks to prevent further intrusion"

"Thorfinn definitely does it on purpose," he agreed, "It's been a habit of his for years"

"Ugh. You make one bleeding heart decision and suddenly nowhere is safe," she muttered. He felt torn between scoffing at her for being a bleeding heart, and chuckling at her declaration. He fell in the middle and shrugged, eyes glittering at her in the dark. He stepped fully into the room then, gently pushing the door to close behind him.

"Miss Granger, I would like to try and make amends for the way I acted this morning" he started, frowning as her eyes jumped over his shoulder towards the exit. Was she afraid of him? The fact that she would suddenly be looking for an exit when it was just the two of them stoked his irritation. He took another step closer, intent on crowding her.

"I appreciate the effort, Rabastan, but I truly do understand this is a big adjustment. Just, don't let the - " the door clicked shut behind them, "- Bugger"

"Afraid to be alone in here with me?" he sneered at her, anger flickering to the surface, "Worried about being left with a Death Eater not kept on a leash?" Her eyes jumped back to his, wide and surprised, and she took an involuntary step back.

"Ah, not particularly. Just the door - " she started. He growled at her, before he turned to yank it back open, angry at himself that he'd even attempted to get along with this chit. His ire turned cold as he realized the door wouldn't budge, "It's locked" she finished lamely.

He turned back towards her, noting her mildly embarrassed look, "Locked?"

"Yes. It's been charmed to be opened only from the outside. And there's a magic dampening spell on the room. We've been using this room to store and inventory some of the more dangerous relics you had around your estate. Don't want someone sneaking in to steal them" she explained. His eyes met each of the walls wildly, he was locked in here?

Her patronus slipped weakly out of her wand before it swam through the door. His heart was beating fiercely in his chest, as his breathing sped up. He'd just escaped a prison, and now he was locked in again?

"Rabastan," came her soft voice as she took a step closer to him. His eyes landed on her, panic rising quickly. She reached her hands up and placed them on either side of his face, "Look at me, Rabastan"

His hands trembled as he reached up and grabbed hers, intent on throwing them away. She stayed firm, chestnut eyes on his. She deliberately took in a deep breath, "Breathe with me. Someone is coming. We'll be out of here in a moment"

His hands clamped firmly around hers, clenching down until he felt the small bones grind against each other. To her credit, the only sign of pain she showed was a little flinch at the corners of her eyes. She continued breathing in and letting it out slowly, keeping her eyes on him. He found he couldn't look away, no matter how hard he tried, and began mimicking her unconsciously. She nodded at him, continuing to breathe with him.

His heart continued to beat fast, but his breathing settled, and his brain began to come back under control. A small click behind him told him the door was open again, and a voice called out,

"Mione, you ok?"

"We're fine, Harry. Thanks for coming so quickly" she answered, releasing his face. He took in one more breath before he dropped her hands harshly, as if they burned. His eyes swept her once more, before he turned and fled from the room, pushing the younger man out of the way.


	3. Chapter 3

It had taken Rabastan several hours to get himself back under control. He'd initially gone back to his bedroom, but the four walls there made him feel anxious and agitated as well. From there he'd tried to seek out refuge in the house – first the study, where he came across Rodolphus, and then the library where he'd found Antonin, followed by the attic where Thorfinn and another stranger were practicing hand to hand combat. Finally, he gave up, and found himself outside, walking around the estate aimlessly. His thoughts rolled anxiously around his head, though he found his heart had begun to beat more evenly as he got away from the confines of being indoors.

Rubbing a hand through his hair, he sighed, and took in deep breaths of fresh air. He could smell the soft lilacs from the bushes throughout the garden, and allowed his feet to walk him towards the pond they used to play in as a child. Larger than what most people would expect, it spread out behind the estate, acting as a boundary for curious neighbors and lost muggles. The sun, still high in the sky, glinted off the water and reflected into his eyes.

He was surprised at his body's immediate reaction to being confined again. He'd become used to living in cells, but the promise of freedom and it's swift retraction had thrown his psyche for a loop. The idea that he was once again trapped, unable to see daylight, had created an anxiety faster than he could have expected or even prepared for. It was good to know, so he could anticipate it in the future, but he didn't like the feeling of being out of control.

Even worse, SHE had seen him out of control. And she reacted as if she'd expected it, as if she'd seen it before. And not only that, she'd been calm and talked him down from it. One more favor he'd have to repay her. It was maddening how quickly they were adding up, especially given that she was in his home!

Faculties once again under control, he decided he needed to track down his brother to discuss this arrangement. Discuss how it had occurred, and perhaps talk some sense into him about wresting ownership back to their family. He decided to start where he'd last seen him, in the study. Padding down the hall, he found that the door was propped open, and light from inside bled out into the hallway.

The scene he came across as he entered caused him to pause for a moment. The study was a moderately sized room, with large windows across the front of the house, a fireplace on one side and bookshelves lining the remaining walls. There was a desk close to the windows that was currently abandoned, and a couch and two armchairs placed in front of the fireplace in a cozy configuration that allowed persons to interact without craning heads or bodies.

On the couch he could see Granger seated, feet tucked up underneath herself and book in hand, pressed against one armrest. Next to her, his brother was lying down on his back, stretched out along the rest of the sofa with his feet hanging over the other armrest. She was reading, out loud it appeared though quietly as he couldn't quite make out what she was saying, occasionally carding her fingers through Rodolphosus's hair. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that either belied complete relaxation or sleep. Behind them, Thorfinn and one of the Weasley boys were engaged in a chess game, both with wrinkled brows as they surveyed the board in front of them. As he stepped fully into the room, he became aware of Dolohov leaning on a wall opposite himself, presence initially obscured by the door between them. His brow furrowed at the complete domesticity of it all.

Hermione noticed him first – or at least acknowledged him first. He was of no doubt that Dolohov had actually noticed him first, but the Russian very rarely let on that he was present. It had amazed him over the years at how easily the tall, broad, brooding man just faded into the background. He'd explained to Rabastan one time that he could learn much more just by listening than by interacting, and that if he pretended he wasn't there most people would play along and eventually he wouldn't be there. It gave him the advantage over someone more charismatic and gregarious such as Rabastan, who's skills at gathering information were based on their ability to charm it out of someone. Old habits died hard, apparently.

The curly haired witch smiled faintly at him as he entered, and she closed her book, putting it in her lap as she ruffled Rodolphus's hair once more. As if noticing the change in her demeanor he stirred, turning his head to meet his brother's eyes. The lazy contentment on his face, accentuated by his gentle smile gave Rabastan a pause. He wasn't sure he had ever seen his brother so comfortable.

"Hello, brother" came the rough voice, and Rabastan cleared his throat before crossing the room towards them.

"Rodolphus. Miss Granger," he nodded tersely at her, irritation flaring at their intimacy. No doubt, this was why his brother was recalcitrant to take back their birthright.

"Please, call me Hermione," she answered, her expression controlled as she regarded him, "After all, we will be living together." The tone of her voice was soft, but firm, asserting her right to be there. He couldn't help the small frown that twisted at his lips.

"Rodolphus, as you observed earlier, I am in need of new clothes. Would you be willing to accompany me to Diagon Alley to purchase a new wardrobe?" he asked, attempting a new tactic to get his brother alone. Granger shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Rodolphus sought her eyes with his own.

"Ah, I'm not sure I can, brother," came the apologetic reply. Granger shifted again, and Rodolphus reached up, grasping her hand in one of his own as if to settle her, "I'm technically under house arrest"

Rabastan felt his lips curve down more severely, "Surely, you can be allowed out for a few hours. Where, exactly, do they think you're going to go with no magic?"

Granger rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand, eyes darting over to Dolohov, and then upwards, "Well, I guess the real concern is what would you do with your magic?"

"What are you implying, Miss Granger?" he bit out. Her chestnut eyes landed on his, and he was mildly surprised to see warring emotions of irritation and regret.

"I trust Rodolphus not to test the conditions of his parole. However, given our brief interactions thus far, I'm not sure I trust you not to break those same conditions in some misguided attempt to save your brother from me," she answered honestly. The briefest appreciation for her directness lifted inside him, but he allowed his annoyance to flare and trample over it like a herd of elephants.

"And what exactly does that mean?"

"It means that normally, Rodolphus is not allowed any further than the gardens. I am certain, given the circumstances, I would be able to get him permission to visit Diagon Alley for a brief foray if he so desired. Potentially even by himself, though I'm not sure Dolph would prefer to be alone for such a journey," she paused as she glanced back down at his brother's face, and he smiled at her encouragingly, "However, I am aware that your family not only owned this Estate but several others dotted across Europe. I don't think the idea of you trying to steal your brother away in some misguided effort to save him from whatever machinations you believe I have started is completely out of the blue"

He scowled then, annoyed at her foresight and knowledge, but hid it behind feigned outrage, "Are you implying you believe I would be capable of hurting my brother?"

"Oh, stuff it Rabastan," came Thorfinn's voice, even as he continued plotting his move, "The only time you're this much of a drama queen is when you're losing the argument"

Granger had the decency to try and hide her laugh behind her hand, but Rodolphus and the other two men chuckled openly at the statement. Rabastan leaned back then, unable to stop the pout the bloomed across his face. Granger shook her head then, small smile creeping across her lips, even as she opened them to respond again.

Before she could answer, however, the door flung itself the rest of the way open, and a tall, dark haired wizard flounced in and dropped himself into the other armchair. Rabastan raised his eyes at the atrocious manners, finding himself staring once again at the famed Hero of the British Wizarding World, Harry Potter himself.

"'Mione.." he started, words little more than a whine. From his vantage point, Rabastan could see Granger's shoulders slump, and both Thorfinn and the redhead wince over her shoulder. Rodolphus closed his eyes again, turning his head back to it's original position but not releasing her hand.

"Harry," she responded, pointedly. The black haired man had the sense to at least look abashed as he righted himself in the chair. He grimaced as he looked over at Rabastan, running a hand through his already untidy hair.

"Sorry, didn't see you there. We haven't properly met yet. I'm Harry"

Rabastan was certain his face told the other wizard exactly how stupid he sounded, seeing as he was one of the most recognizable persons in their corner of the world, but manners drilled into him since he was a child forced him to extend a hand, "Rabastan Lestrange. It's a pleasure meeting you"

Manners may have forced him to extend the hand, but the Slytherin in him didn't extend it far, forcing the other man to stand and reach out to take it. Granger's face showed that she'd clearly spent some time around snakes, and she twisted her lips at the gesture. Thorfinn's muttered, "Now kiss" from over her shoulder, however, removed the expression as she laughed in amusement immediately. The blonde man's eyes glittered as glanced at her briefly.

"What do you need help with, Harry?" she asked, turning her attention back to her friend. He flushed a little as he slumped forward and tugged at his sleeve.

"I don't know what to do," he said, his voice a little quiet and eyes pleading. Her eyes squinted a little at him.

"What do you mean you don't know what to do?" she asked, her voice becoming a touch strident, "It's not rocket science"

He tugged on his sleeve again, and shifted in his seat, "But she's not like the others. She's...one of them" he gestured at the men in the room. The red head let out a faint "Oi!"

"I mean, she's not...I can't just charm her with who I am," Harry finished lamely. Granger sighed, and she glanced over her shoulder at Thorfinn who let out a low grumble at her look.

"I mean, I'm not sure what you expect from me, Harry. I've certainly never asked out a girl before," she answered, her tone unchanged. Rabastan noted the quirk of her lips, and the small wrinkles around her eyes, and realized she was teasing her friend even if she didn't let on. She'd spent a lot of time around snakes, then.

"I know. But you've spent time with these guys. And your last boyfriend - ," he cleared his throat at her narrowed eyes, "I mean, maybe you can give me some pointers"

"Oh, no. Definitely not. I will not be the catalyst for whatever meltdown you have when you finally do grow the bollocks to ask Pansy out, and realize you are in way over your head" came her firm reply. Then, to Rabastan's surprise, a completely devious smile curled at her lips, "I'm sure, however, that Thorfinn would be very happy to assist you in your efforts to gain her favor"

Thorfinn jerked his head up, and gave her a very pointed glower. She glanced at him, smile still firmly planted on her lips as she fluttered her lashes at him, "Wouldn't you, Thorfinn?"

The big man curled his lips at her in a fearsome glare, to which she only smiled larger. Entirely too much time with snakes, if that was her response to a look that sent most mortals running. After a long moment of silence, with the Potter scion looking back and forth between them, nervously bouncing his legs on the balls of his feet, Thorfinn looked back over at Harry and muttered, "Yeah, fine"

"Excellent," responded Granger, delight all over her face even as the bigger man looked like he wanted to eat her liver for lunch. There was a small chuckle from the wall, and Rabastan looked over in surprise at Dolohov, almost having forgotten he was even there.

Harry jumped up then, leaning over and placing a kiss on her cheek, "Thanks Mione! Thorfinn" he nodded at the older man who scowled and waved his hand at him. Harry took it as a dismissal and fairly bolted from the room then.

Rabastan raised his eyebrow at her then, "That's the Savior of the Wizarding world?"

"The one and only" she answered, eyes filled with mirth.

"He managed to kill the most powerful, dark wizard of our time?" clarified Rabastan. She nodded, grinning.

"With an Expelliarmus no less" she replied. Rabastan shook his head.

"Imagine, all the machinations and planning, and all we needed to end the bloody war was a 16 year old girl with pretty eyes and a dab hand at killing curses," came Rodolphus's voice from the couch. Granger laughed then, slapping him lightly on the shoulder.

"Does bring all of that into rather sharp relief, doesn't it?" she asked rhetorically. Rabastan sighed, running his hand through his hair, frowning as it got stuck on some tangles at the end. Her own gaze landed on the gesture and she sighed again.

"Ron?" she asked, and the red head paused in his move, looking at her, "Do you think we could arrange a time for Rodolphus and Rabastan to go to Diagon Alley together?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her, before looking over at Rabastan, distrust painted across his face, "I'm sure we could ask Kingsley. Though, I'd imagine they'd have to be escorted"

She nodded, thoughtfully, "Rabastan, if you can give me a day or two I'll try to get secure passage for Rodolphus to accompany you" Rodolphus protested from his spot on the couch, and she ruffled his hair before leaning down to place an affectionate kiss on his forehead, "I know you don't, but it would mean a lot to your brother" she murmured at him, before standing to leave the room. She absently placed a hand on Rabastan's shoulder and squeezed before walking out the door. He scowled again at the affectionate gesture.

Rodolphus had rolled partially over, his eyes on his brother, "She'll get it done. No doubt, tomorrow we'll be free to go"

"I'd rather it be without an escort," he groused and Rodolphus huffed at him.

"I'm in the middle of 5 years of house arrest and 15 years magical probation. I can cast a lumos and an accio without getting in trouble, and that's it. I would be surprised it we weren't escorted by Aurors" he answered.

"Besides," came the red head – Ron's – voice from behind the couch, "The escort is as much for your safety as it is to make sure Roddy doesn't slip up. Checkmate" Thorfinn scowled and swore then, swiping the chess pieces off the board as Ron laughed and took his leave.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in quiet conversation with his brother and former comrades, catching up on their own fortunes. Thorfinn had almost lost Rowle tower, but at the last minute his sister – a Hufflepuff who'd stayed with the Light during the war – was allowed to keep it as she had not taken the dark mark. Over thee quarters of their vaults and assets, however, had been seized and given away. He was on house arrest for another 3 years, and then magical probation for an additional 5, but would be allowed to serve those years at his own home if he desired.

Dolohov had been sentenced similar to Rodolphus, though his probation was of an indeterminate duration and even more strict – he was not allowed to use any magic at all, and wore a dampener on his right wrist. Any assets he had acquired over the years, though less impressive than those of older houses, had been seized and sold or redistributed. He revealed he suspected he would never be allowed full use of his magic again, due in particular to his creativity when it came to charms and curses. That, and the fact that the result of one such curse was painted across the body of the witch whose abode they were living in.

To his surprise, none of them seemed particularly upset by their sentencing. In fact, acceptance and mild contentment was the best way to describe any of their feelings in regards to their situation. The fact that Granger was a Mudblood didn't even cross their lips once, and the idea that his friends may have changed their thinking left him uneasy.

Having taken advantage of his first full day out of Azkaban, Rabastan made his way to his rooms well after midnight. Moonlight from windows high on the hallway walls peaked in and illuminated his way in oval mottling along the ground. It was one of his favorite design aspects from his home, and fostered a sense of remembered affection as he padded quietly down the carpeted hall.

Ahead of him, he heard the quiet rush of fabric on fabric, and realized with a start that his brother was running towards the master suite. He paused, pressing himself into a shadow as he watched the man. Rodolphus was completely unaware of his presence as he knocked softly on the imposing double doors insistently. There was a long interlude, before the door opened slowly, with a soft creak of the hinges.

Granger leaned out, face pale in the reflected light. Rodolphus reached forward, gently grabbing her shoulders and pulling her into him in a tight embrace. She wrapped her arms around his waist, returning the gesture. They stood, silently absorbing comfort from each other before she pulled back and looked up at him again. He couldn't make out the words that were murmured, but she nodded at him. He leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead, and she stepped back into her room and closed the door.

Rodolphus stood there for a long while afterwards, head bowed, hand gently pressed on the wood of the door. Eventually, he nodded as well, and turned, walking slowly back to his own room, still unaware of Rabastan's presence as he closed his own door. Rabastan frowned, unsure of what he'd just witnessed, before escaping to the confines of his own room for the night.

He didn't like the way everyone seemed to naturally defer to her. He didn't like the fact that he felt like a stranger in his own home. And he certainly didn't like the fact that his own brother seemed to like her better than he'd ever seen him like any of their blood relatives. He would have to do something about that.


	4. Chapter 4

True to her word, the following day Rabastan was informed that Rodolphus had been given clearance to visit Diagon Alley with him, so long as there was an Auror present. And apparently, they'd chosen the biggest Auror they could find. Rodolphus had appeared non-plussed at the presence of the mountain of a man and had simply nodded at him before they flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. There were restrictions on what they could do – they had 4 hours, no magic allowed from Roddy, and no apparition. Rabastan growled when he'd heard the rules, but Rodolphus had placed a calming hand on his shoulder and shrugged. This was the life of an ex-Death Eater.

As they walked out into public, Rabastan became acutely aware of the scrutiny they were immediately under. Having had his face splashed across the papers a number of times over the years, and usually not for positive purposes, it seemed as if everyone knew him, though he himself recognized relatively few faces in the crowd. Not that there was a crowd that formed with pitchforks, gathering to force them out of the streets. No, it was more the looks, the muttering around them, the pointing. He lifted his head and placed the facade of indifference he'd practiced over the years.

Rodolphus, however, appeared less comfortable and took to ducking his head. They worked their way down the street, their Auror escort tailing just a few steps behind them, as they headed for Twilfit and Tatting's. Rabastan glanced over at his brother, inwardly surprised to see mixed emotions of fear and contrition on his face. Scowling at the expression, he grabbed Rodolphus's arm and steered him into the clothing shop.

The atmosphere inside was one in which a lively afternoon was suddenly interrupted by an unwanted visitor. The buzz of society gossip hung in the air, having abruptly stopped as the newcomers stepped in. All eyes were upon them, and Rabastan felt their weight as they were considered. Most of the patrons were unrecognizable to himself, though he thought he caught a brief glance of Narcissa Malfoy across the store before she disappeared into the dressing rooms. Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but unwilling to show it, he drew himself up tall and straightened his shoulders. He was a Lestrange. No one was going to make him feel uncomfortable in his home town.

A small, hawkish, gray haired woman broke up the silence by scurrying across the room towards them, "Misters Lestrange. Welcome, I received word you would be coming today"

Rabastan favored her with a roguish smile, "Why thank you Madam...?"

"Soleous" she responded shortly, beckoning them to follow her. Rabastan glanced at his brother, who was suddenly quite interested in his own shoes, his face having taken on a pale sheen. He frowned again briefly, touching his arm before jerking his head in the direction they were sent. Their escort followed them silently, a few steps behind, nodding at the others within the shop.

They were lead into a private fitting room, and the woman immediately got started taking his measurements, muttering about sizes and styles. After discussing some preferred garments, she disappeared to get some samples for him to try on, leaving the three alone in the room. Rabastan turned to his brother sharply, "What is wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?" came the weak reply, Rodolphus still looking a bit green. Rabastan huffed at him and crossed his arms.

"You act like a first year about to go to the sorting. And even then, I think you were braver than you have been today"

"I'm just...I'm not comfortable being out in public, Bast" came the soft answer, his brother crossing his arms across his chest. Rabastan growled at the gesture.

"Why not?"

"Because I know what they're thinking. I know that they're angry at us. And they're not wrong on either account"

Rabastan scoffed, "Who cares what they think? They're hardly worth worrying about. Hardly worth considering"

Rodolphus frowned at him then, "You can't believe that. They're people, Bast. They may not have had the luxury of our upbringing, but they're people"

Anger flared hotly in Rabastan, "Of course they're people! And they may even have access to magic. But they are NOT the same as us!"

"Why not? Because their first cousins aren't also their second cousins? Because they don't come from that ridiculous sacred 28? Because they don't have more money than they could spend in 20 lifetimes sitting in their vaults? What about us makes us so much better than the rest of the people in this shop? In this whole alley?" it was the strongest he'd heard Rodolphus's voice since he'd returned home. The Auror shifted in his spot against the wall.

"Where is this coming from, brother? What has that Granger girl been feeding you?" he snapped back.

"Nothing, Rabastan! She's said absolutely nothing to me. And so far as having the most right to hate me, to hate us, she's almost at the top of the list," his voice was bitter, full of self recrimination.

"We are of the Lestrange line, Rodolphus. We are as magically pure as they come. There is no doubt as to whether we're wizards or where our magic comes from. The others...They are anomalies," he implored.

"Are they?" Rodolphus's eyes were sharp, reminding Rabastan of his brother's oft ignored intelligence, "So because our parents and their parents and their parents going back hundreds of years made sure they only bred with other people of magical heritage, we are the rightful owners of our magic and they are not? And how does that account for a half-blood like Snape, who was stronger than both of us? Or the squibs who have not a drop of magic in them in spite of their parentage?"

Before he could answer, the seamstress returned, arms full of clothing ranging from casual dress wear to formal robes and suits. Rabastan gestured his brother towards the pile as well, and Rodolphus huffed before joining him in trying on the different clothes. Though their coloring was similar, Rodolphus had always been broader through the shoulders and thighs than his brother, with a squarer jaw. Rabastan tended to be leaner, with wiry muscles and longer lines, favoring more of a runner's build. From the time they had hit puberty they'd no longer been able to share clothing, as Rodolphus's clothing tended to hang off Rabastan's frame and Rabastan's tended to make Rodolphus look like a stuffed sausage.

Looking over at his brother struggling on a dress shirt that was clearly too narrow through his arms and shoulders, Rabastan felt a smile on the edge of his lips. Catching his brother's eye in the mirror, Rodolphus's mouth changed from an irritated scowl to a grin, and they both began to laugh at the old ridiculous familiarity of the situation.

"Some things never change," said Rodolphus. Rabastan chuckled.

"Well, maybe once I regain some weight it won't be quite so bad"

"I'm pretty sure it will be" came the amused response. Rabastan finished trying on the different suggestions and choosing what he liked, while Rodolphus picked a handful of styles as well. The seamstress nodded at them, and told them the clothing would be available in 3 days – or could be delivered directly to their home. Rabastan waved off Rodolphus's suggestion that it be delivered and announced he would return in three days time to pick up all the garments. Errand achieved they were escorted politely, but firmly, to the door and let out.

Rodolphus had an amused look on his face as the door was shut firmly behind them, "I'm pretty sure that was the most polite kicking out I've ever had"

Rabastan looked at him surprised. It didn't even occur to him that they may have been unwelcome, though the fact that they'd been allowed minimal contact with other patrons was somewhat suspicious. Undeterred, though slightly less buoyant with the revelation, he turned towards the local barber shop. Rodolphus looked at him curiously for a moment, before sighing in resignation and following him.

"You know, you could be a little more enthusiastic about being allowed out of your gilded cage today" sniped Rabastan. Rodolphus shrugged, tucking his hands in his pockets as they strolled down the cobblestones.

"It's all a gilded cage now, brother. At least there you know what the rules are"

"And here?" he asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"Here people pretend. Not well, mind you, but they pretend to tolerate you. They pretend you're not a dangerous convict. They pretend they aren't relieved you can't wield a wand, or play with magic. And they pretend you still belong in a world that has long since left you behind," he responded morosely.

"Well, you're just a bowl full of sunshine, aren't you?" asked Rabastan flatly, pushing open the door to their next stop.

"I can't exactly blame them. It's not like we can claim we were imperiused, Bast," came the soft reply, hazel eyes beseeching him.

A portly, gray haired man approached the brothers, eyeing them suspiciously, "Can I help you?"

"Ah, yes," responded Rabastan, "I am in need of some help with the worst haircut in a decade. Would you have time for me?"

"Sorry, booked up for today," came the short answer. Rabastan's eyebrows raised.

"Perhaps you could check again," he implored, motioning towards the visitors ledger. Sweeping his eyes around the room he could see that it was mostly empty, with no currently waiting patrons.

"Like I said. We're busy," came the harder voice. Rodolphus placed a hand on Rabastan's arm.

"Perhaps we should go, brother," he implored, nervousness coloring his voice.

"I don't understand. I simply need a haircut. I'm certainly not going to steal some sheers and slit someone's throat," Rabastan answered, incredulously. Rodolphus winced at the words, and the Auror behind him coughed warningly.

"And that, sir, is why we won't see you - "

"Maximus? Who are you -? Oh! Rodolphus!" came a feminine voice from the back of the shop. A young blonde woman, with a sweet face and gentle expression came into view. She smiled warmly at Rodolphus before scowling at the older man, "Off with you now, Max. I'll take care of these two"

Grumbling, the portly man turned and trundled off, keeping a hard eye on the three men. The blonde sighed and shook her head, leaning over to kiss Rodolphus on the cheek before turning to greet Rabastan, "I'm Hannah. You must be Rabastan"

Her warm manner put him at ease immediately, and he grasped her proffered hand, placing a kiss on the back of it instead of shaking, "Pleasure to meet you"

She laughed before gently removing her hand from his, and patted him on the cheek, "All manners and flirtatious banter from you Lestranges. My husband would be beside himself"

"And who is lucky enough to call you his wife?" he asked, keeping his tone even and smooth even as he favored her with a roguish smile. Her smile faltered a touch, before she answered

"Neville. Neville Longbottom"

Rabastan felt his stomach swoop to his knees, and he swallowed hard, "Ah"

He heard Rodolphus chuckle besides him, "Ah, says the ladies man. How eloquent"

Hannah laughed again, a soft tinkling sound, before she led them to her chair in the back of the salon. Rodolphus plopped down in the chair next to his as Hannah placed a drape and arranged her tools. For a fleeting moment Rabastan became acutely aware that the wife of the man who's parents he had tortured would have some very sharp implements nears his body. His brow furrowed as he watched her sharpen a blade, and he turned his gaze over to his brother who was smirking in his direction.

"So, how has life been on the outside, Mr. Lestrange?" asked the blonde as she ran her fingers through his lank hair.

"Thus far, very unusual," he answered honestly, watching her as she trimmed off the dead lengths.

"Hmmm, I'd imagine. Though, at least you have the benefit of being able to go home," she responded offhandedly, "Mr. MacNair was in here last week, and was fairly beside himself trying to find a place to live"

"Did you direct him to the apartments downtown?" inquired Rodolphus. Hannah smiled at him in the mirror and nodded.

"Yes. As I understand he has a place to live now, though the trick has always been finding work"

Rabastan stayed silent as Hannah and Rodolphus chatted away around him. He hadn't much thought about what would happen if he was expected to work. Who would be willing to hire him? It was unlikely he'd find a spot within the ministry or the MLE, which would mostly leave retail or purchasing a business. And if he didn't have the capital to purchase, then he'd be at the mercy of those who would be willing to take on a former Death Eater. A convincted Death Eater at that. The thought turned his stomach a bit, and he began to wonder about the others who might not have fared as well.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Lestrange, but most of your hair has to go. It's quite...well, I'm pretty certain you'll be happy it won't smell anymore," apologized Hannah, her blue eyes catching his in the mirror. He gave her a genuine smile in return.

"It's fine, I always preferred to wear it short," he answered honestly and she smiled back. A few more snips and she pulled off the cape.

"Good as new!" she pronounced, allowing him to see the finished product. Shorter on the sides, a little longer and fashionably tousled on the top, he was starting to feel like a real person again. Standing, he shook her hand and paid before they left.

The return to the Leaky was more somber than when they had arrived. Rabastan felt as if the wind had been removed from his sails, and his gait was slower and less self-assured than before. His brother clasped a hand on his shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile.

"It's alright, Rabastan. The world changes, and we will change with it," he said, squeezing him. Rabastan nodded, but felt his inner psyche flare up. He didn't want to change. He didn't want to have to be someone new. Why wasn't who he was good enough anymore?

 ** _I just want to thank you all for your lovely reviews! I don't often have the chance to respond, but I read them all and I'm so glad you're enjoying this story so far. It's been rolling around in my head, and is a bit of my baby, so I'm just so glad it's met with your approval thus far ;) The majority of the story will be from Rabastan's POV, and is a bit of a slow burn. But hopefully, you'll all continue to enjoy the ride! Winds81_**


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't until the next morning that Rabastan realized he'd omitted the most important stop of his trip. The essential brush off he'd been given, along with the encroaching sense of exclusion from normal society had distracted him enough that he'd forgotten to make his final patronage to purchase a new wand. Of course, it had not been included amongst his tattered belongings in the ratty, old suitcase that had been shoved into his hands as he'd been thrown out of the monolithic prison.

Perhaps most concerning to himself was the fact that he hadn't even noticed he'd forgotten about it. For a tool that was so essential to his life, to his identity, it was near unconscionable that he hadn't even spared a second or third thought about having it on his person. But today, a full 48 hours since he'd been released and found himself, well perhaps free was pushing it, but whole and without a physical prison, he suddenly discovered he missed it. Missed the comfort of the familiar wood in his hand, the focal point that allowed his internal power to come to fruition. Missed the magic that had always been a part of him, even before he knew what it was.

He looked down, in mild bewilderment, at his dominant hand. He was naturally left handed, which was how he carried his wand, and the hand he favored when he participated in sports or performed any of those tasks that rely on memory long coached into muscles. He wrote, however, with his right hand. That was a lesson that had been hammered into him by his father, with the essential core being that only that uncultured brutes and heathens wrote with their left hands, and the Lestranges were neither. It didn't matter the means by which that lesson was taught, only that results were achieved. The irony was not lost on him either then, nor now.

He trotted hesitantly back to the study, intent on finding his brother again. He wasn't sure how he could explain his lapse, but was sure his brother could explain it more clearly to him. Rodolphus always had a way of illustrating the inner workings of one's mind in a way that made it seem sensible, and not as if he were on the verge of losing his sanity. Not that he hadn't been close, more than once. Not that it wouldn't have been convenient, more than once. It would have been, at least, a nice excuse.

Rodolphus was where he expected to find him, though today he was alone, staring at a book he didn't seem to be reading. His expression was pinched, eyes unseeing as his lips spoke words silently. A spell? A prayer? A confession? Rabastan pursed his lips and made a little more noise than strictly necessary as he entered the room, trying to announce his presence without making it obvious he was doing so. At the brush of cloth on wood, Rodolphus jerked his head upright, looking at his brother with a countenance still lost to memory. Rabastan paused, waiting, until the color had returned to his eyes and they focused on him more clearly. It came back in stages, ending with a smile that stretched his lips authentically.

"Am I interrupting?" Rabastan asked, easing more fully into the room now. Once again, as with the previous day, he noted Dolohov standing sentry against the far wall, having been obscured by the layout of the room. Rodolphus shook his head, beckoning him in further. He approached warily, unsure of who this person was before him.

"Lost in old thoughts," answered Rodolphus, an fleeting expression of melancholy passing his face. Looking down again, Rabastan recognized the book in his hands as actually being an old photo album that had long since been hidden in the manor. He smiled then at the picture it was opened to. The brothers were there, along with Lucius Malfoy and Andromeda Black. The boys had their arms around each other's shoulders, and Lucius tucked his around Andromeda's waist as she laughed at something out of view. Rodolphus had been 12 or 13 at the time, face just beginning to lose it's pudginess to the start of teenage angst. Rabastan had soft hair, and rounder cheeks at just 9 or 10, but they still looked like family. Like they always had.

"I'm not sure I remember this one," Rabastan said, reluctantly. Rodolphus gave him a knowing look, and placed his finger next to the picture.

"We were so young," he started, "This was taken on Narcissa's 10th birthday. Father wanted to get a good picture of us with Lucius. 'So we could remember our equals' he said. Lucius pulled Andromeda into the frame right before he snapped it. And then Cissa was so mad that he'd paid attention to her, she tripped and fell into her own cake"

Rabastan could feel the edges of the memory pulling at him, like something he'd seen from outside himself, reflected back from many years ago. He vaguely recalled the event, but like so many fond moments, it had been drawn away from him during his time in Azkaban. It was hard to remember much of his youth, anymore. Most of those memories had been used up and squeezed dry during his first stint in Azkaban, removed as a means to protect himself from the horrors they had faced. Most of what was left were those years when they'd found a cause to believe in, and a purpose to follow. And while many of the early years supplied him with a steady source of affection and lightheartedness, the last decade had been more macabre than pleasant.

"It was sort of the beginning of the end, wasn't it?" he asked rhetorically, but Rodolphus nodded anyhow.

"I sometimes wish I could go back to those days and shake myself, tell myself what was going to happen," he replied softly, flipping the page to the next photo. This one was of Rodolphus, now deep in his teens with the awkward angles and long limbs and burgeoning muscles that went along with that, arm securely around another dark, curly haired witch's waist, both smiling into the camera, a gust of wind blowing at her skirt and his jacket. She'd had that same droopy lidded look even then, but her eyes were clear. Rabastan had remembered Bella as being a bit eccentric, and a touch mean growing up, but nothing that would ever hint at her eventual insanity.

"Would you have listened?" asked Rabastan mirthfully. Rodolphus caught his eyes, returning a tight grin and shook his head tightly.

"You're right. Who we were? Who we are? Would we ever listen to someone who told us we were wrong?"

"The lessons of our youth were absolute," agreed Rabastan, nodding as he looked down at the picture on the opposite side. This one was of Rabastan alone, and one he remembered clearly. It had been taken of him from across the room at Rodolphus's wedding. They'd taken the mark by then, but there was no fear yet. He was in his early 20s, hair brushed back from his face, expression suffused with a smile and joy at the union of two powerful houses, and two persons whom were presumably in love. It was the last memory he had of being genuinely happy. Rodolphus snapped the book shut sharply, and laid it on the sofa next to his leg.

"So much of it seems so far away," he said, eyes seeking Rabastan's again. Rabastan sighed and nodded.

"We've certainly seen a lot of life since then," he answered. Rodolphus's eyes narrowed and he pierced him with his gaze.

"Have we? Truly? We've spent more time in a small box than we have in our own home," he answered. Rabastan frowned again, not sure where the conversation was going to go, and not wanting to broach the subject yet.

"I forgot to buy a wand," he blurted, attempting to divert attention. He was going to need to practice his conversational skills, he internally reprimanded himself. Rodolphus stared at him a moment and then laughed, standing up.

"Well, it's only been what, five years since the last time you held one?" he asked, all traces of melancholy lifted as he walked towards the desk.

"Yes, but...it's my wand Dolph! It's like forgetting to attach my arm!" he whinged back, pouting at his brother's retreating form. Rodolphus walked around to the opposite side of the desk, opening the top drawer. Rabastan sucked in a breath as he saw him withdraw a slender, wooden box that he held out invitingly. He stood on shaky legs, strolling over the desk cautiously, as if the proffered gift might be snatched away before he could even receive it. Rodolphus pushed it into his hand as he reached him, and he unhooked the latch with shaking fingers, opening the lid reverently.

Tears sprung to the corners of his eyes as the light rowan wood came into view. It was not just A wand, it was HIS wand. The first wand he'd ever gotten as an 11 year old. Grasping the worn handle, he lifted it from the cradle it sat in, staring at it in awe in the morning light.

"Where did you get it?" he whispered. Rodolphus smiled softly at him.

"The ministry had retained a hold on it when we were first incarcerated. Wand snapping is considered 'cruel and unusual punishment', which is moderately amusing from a community that supported dementors as jailors" came the wry response, "It was sent over a few days before you got home. I'm sorry I forgot to give it to you before now"

Rabastan swished the wand experimentally, lifting a paperweight off the desk and dangling it overhead. The thrum of magic through his arm felt welcoming and centering, allowing him the homecoming he'd been denied for so many years. Rodolphus grinned at him as he lowered the object back onto it's surface.

"How does it feel?"

"Like I just had my arm restored," he answered enthusiastically, before grimacing at his unintentional gloat, "I mean..."

Rodolphus shook his head, wistful look on his features, "No. None of that. I'm glad you have your wand back, and your magic"

He looked as if he were about to say more, but his attention was caught over Rabastan's shoulder, and he frowned. Turning his head slightly, Rabastan saw Granger enter, eyes looking a little glassy and hair out of sorts. She was muttering to herself, fingers of her right hand twitching as if she were counting something. There was a small, leatherbound book in her other hand, forgotten for the moment as she wandered aimlessly into the room. She paced, unseeing towards the window, unfocused on those around her.

"Hermione?" called out Rodolphus, softly. She didn't respond, lost in thought. As she drew closer to them Rabastan could see the black ink on her fingers, and smudged along her left cheek. His brother drew up taller, consternation clearly on his face, "Hermione?"

"Granger," snapped Rabastan, irritated that she was interrupting their otherwise pleasant morning. She paused, tilted her head at him a moment, before returning to her mutterings. Rabastan turned a curious look at his brother, who's brow was furrowed at the scene.

"My shower was cold this morning," came the gruff voice from the back wall. Rabastan jumped, surprised to hear the other occupant of the room speak. He darted a look at the Russian man, who was solely focused on the distracted witch as she paced by the window.

He turned his head sharply back to the curly haired woman, who paused in her ramblings, lifting her head up to look at them for the first time. She shook her head, mumbling slowing down, pinioning the Russian with a glare finally, "Cold?"

"Yes, megera. Cold. As in lacking in heat?" he retorted. Rabastan felt his eyebrows raise. He'd never heard Antonin take that particular tone with anyone.

"Did you turn the knobs correctly?" she harped back. Antonin sighed harshly, pushing himself off the wall.

"I'm not 5, Hermione. I know how to take a shower," he snapped, eyes flashing at her. Rabastan watched her turn to fully face the larger man, hands dropping towards her sides. Wordlessly, Rodolphus grasped the tome between her fingers and pulled it away as she was distracted.

"Well, it's a MAGICAL household, Antonin. The water is ENCHANTED to stay warm. So I'm not sure how, exactly, YOU and YOU alone managed to get a COLD shower unless you don't know how to use the knobs," she retorted. Antonin growled, stomping over to her and snarled something at her in Russian. To Rabastan's even greater surprise, Hermione yelled back at him in Russian as well. Before he could take a breath, the two were in a shouting match, fingers pointed at each other. As Hermione stabbed him in the chest with her finger, he growled again, shoving it away and stepping closer to tower over her. Hermione sneered in return, continuing to berate Antonin in a shrill voice.

Rabastan swiveled his head to look at his brother, who bore a faintly amused look on his face at the scene. His tension eased at the expression, and he looked back at the two combatants, observing them more closely. For all that Antonin postured at annoyance, his face lacked the harsh lines that Rabastan knew resided there when he was truly angry. His stance, while foreboding, held no rigidity through his shoulders that indicated a true threat. He was, for lack of a better description, acting as if he was annoyed. Rabastan tipped his head to the side, intrigued at the display.

Hermione's reactions seemed to hint that she knew he wasn't actually angry as well. While her voice was sharp and tight, and expression pinched, it suggested at an underlying a mirth at the situation. Her own posture was steady and anticipatory, but relaxed, as if she was enjoying the quarrel but didn't expect escalation. Of course, that could have been related to the fact that Antonin was essentially a chained beast in the house, but his feelings were it ran deeper than that. That perhaps, this was not an uncommon occurrence.

Just as quickly as it had started, Hermione let out a breathy "HUH!" and stomped towards the entry to the study once more. Pausing, hand on the door frame she turned to stare at Antonin once more, yelling, "And call me a shrew ONE MORE TIME and see what happens!"

As she escaped back into the hallway, Antonin chuckled at her theatrics, turning back to the other two men. Rodolphus grinned knowingly at him, and lifted the book towards him.

"New spells or old memories?" asked the Russian, gesturing at the pages. Rodolphus glanced at the writing and frowned again.

"Both, it looks like"

"May I see it?" requested Antonin, and Rabastan raised an eyebrow as Rodolphus passed the book over. The darker man read the page and then huffed a little, muttering under his breath as he grabbed a quill off the desk, striking through a line with deft strokes.

"Hermione learned Russian to help Antonin feel more at home," said Rodolphus, as if it was an explanation for anything, "I suspect she regrets it, now"

"Do they do that often?" asked Rabastan, curiosity over riding the part of his brain that told him to be indifferent. Rodolphus chuckled.

"At least once a week. If they haven't fought in a few days, one of them is probably dying," came the wry response. Antonin snorted next to him, but nodded in agreement, eyes still on the book.

Rabastan rubbed his jaw thoughtfully at the admission. Antonin had always been a tightly controlled entity, for all his rumored insanity. He was brilliant, formidable, savage, and dangerous. But he was never out of control. Every thing that ever happened to and around Antonin was exactly as he had designed it to occur. Aloof to a fault, reticent, and impenetrable, he also possessed patience beyond what most reasonable persons could and would endure. Rabastan had envied him his self possession on more than one occasion when his own impetuosity had twisted under his skin, pushing him to act before the time was right.

His reflection was brought to a halt as two other persons entered the library, conversing in hushed tones. One he recognized as the red head – Ron – from the previous evening. The other was a dark haired woman, with carefully coifed locks and a nose that was just a shade too short for her otherwise symmetrical features. She scowled at Ron before turning to the other three men.

"Everything alright?" came Rodolphus's concerned voice. The brunette looked back at Ron, who gestured at her again, irritation as plain as day on his face.

"Ronald has informed me that I need to alert you all of something" she bit out, glaring at Ron as she stalled.

"Well, what is it Pansy?" came his brother's short rebuff. Rabastan raised an eyebrow again – clearly there was no love lost between them.

She sighed heavily, looking at Ron once more before replying, "Pucey's back. He just came home last night"

Rabastan startled at the thump the little book made as it hit the floor, and instinctively stepped away at the growl that arose from the Russian man's throat.


	6. Chapter 6

Rabastan felt a bit bewildered at the sheer number of people who managed to cram themselves into the study what felt like only moments after the Parkinson girl had announced that the Pucey boy was back in town. All residents of the estate, minus Granger herself, along with Potter, Ron, the Weasley girl – Ginny, another frequent rotating Auror by the name of Dean and Marcus Flint had somehow managed to stuff themselves into and onto every available surface. Ron had called it a strategy meeting. Rabastan was a little mystified as to what sort of strategy they were planning, but given that everyone else seemed to be on the same page he felt a touch self conscious about asking.

"Can't we just ban him from coming?" asked Dean, propped up against the back of the sofa, arms crossed across his chest, scowl on his face. Thorfinn grunted in agreement from behind him, nodding his head.

"You know 'Mione," answered Ron, long suffering infusing his voice.

"'Everyone is welcome, regardless of our past'" intoned half the room, and Rabastan stifled a laugh at the response.

"But does that have to include wanker ex-boyfriends?" piped in Potter. Ron pinned him with a look and he raised his hands in defeat, "Right. Hermione. Got it"

"Besides, if we were going to exclude wanker ex-boyfriends, Ronald would be on the top of the list," interjected Ginny, and the tall red head gave his sister a withering look.

"Marcus, I don't suppose you can keep him otherwise occupied for the next...oh, 20 years or so?" asked Potter. Marcus snorted.

"The first thing he asked me last night was what time to be here in the morning," came the gravelled voice of the tall, broad man across the room. He raised his hands placatingly at Dolohov's growl, taking an unconscious step away from the older man, "I didn't tell him to come. It's not like the morning meeting of the minds is a secret though"

Rodolphus rubbed his chin, closing his eyes with a briefly annoyed expression, "Perhaps Hermione could spend a few days in London?"

There was an undignified snort from the Prat-Who-Lived, "Unlikely. We're in the middle of a case and there's some department turnover right now. There's no way she's going to be talked into taking any time off. Plus, she always feels guilty when she leaves for any length of time"

Rodolphus hummed in response, and Rabastan furrowed his brow, "Why would she feel guilty?"

"Antonin," was Rodolphus's answer, as if it explained everything. Rabastan leaned forward and waved his hands for further explanation. His brother grimaced apologetically, "Conditions of Antonin's parole state that if Hermione isn't here on premises, he's to be confined to his rooms. We've gotten them relaxed over time to the point that he can be out during the day if she's working and there are at least two Aurors present, but if she leaves overnight or goes out of town he has to be locked into his rooms until she returns"

"That's..." started Rabastan, recoiling from the revelation.

"Pretty damned lenient," came the very firm response from Potter, both Ron and Dean nodding beside him.

"So, what, we run interference until Pucey loses interest again?" snapped Ginny. Thorfinn sighed unhappily, shifting his weight.

"That's unlikely. Adrian is singularly minded. The less he can have it, the more he wants it," answered Marcus.

"I'm sorry, I feel like I'm missing a key piece of this puzzle," Rabastan finally broke down, "Why do we care about this person at all?"

The occupants of the room all shared a wary, secretive look, and an awkward silence descended on them. Rabastan raised his eyebrows, gesturing with his hands once more for more information. Ron broke first, an irritated scowl on his lips as he glared at the other people in the room, "Pucey was Hermione's most recent boyfriend"

"He's... Well, you'll meet him when he comes around," picked up Marcus, "He wanted Hermione because she was a challenge. And he made it his goal to get her, because Adrian never could say no to a challenge"

"Pucey is a solicitor," supplied Ginny, as if that explained everything.

"And Hermione is Hermione, so she held out for forever because she has the confidence of a wet sock when it comes to men," sighed Potter.

"Once Adrian finally managed to ask her out, and they started dating, he just..." Marcus trailed off.

"He turned into a pompous arsehole," supplied Ron, "Started playing games with her, messing with her head"

"She became a paranoid mess. At six months in, she flinched when he lifted his hand next to her," growled Rodolphus, Rabastan startling at the sound of his voice.

"We never could prove it that he abused her, but she started working longer hours, sleeping and eating less," continued Thorfinn, his lips pulled down in a severe frown.

"Adrian had to go out of town on a work trip for a few months, and Hermione just barely managed to dump him right before he left. Circumstances kept him gone longer than expected," smirked Potter, in a way that suggested he knew exactly why Pucey had been detained.

"Yes, well, he was bound to return," rumbled Marcus, and Potter sighed and nodded.

"And now with Hermione's open house policy, he's bound to show back up and start trying to win back her affections," finished Ron, same scowl on his face.

"And we don't trust her to fight her own battles?" asked Rabastan, slightly amused smirk on his face. Potter sighed noisily again.

"Oh no, Hermione can fight her own battles just fine. The thing is, the arsehole made her question her sense of morality. Twisted it up like a pretzel, and played around in her head until she couldn't tell up from down. And Hermione's greatest strength and greatest weakness is her sense of morality," he answered honestly, small frown on his lips.

"Adrian gaslit the shit out of her, made her believe she didn't deserve him even though he pursued her, and then let loose with his temper when they were behind closed doors. It took months for her to start coming back out of her shell. I don't want to lose her again," said Ginny quietly, concerned look on her face.

Rabastan frowned. It wasn't as if he was a bastion of light and morality, but he'd been taught to never raise his fists to women in anger. Granted, that little piece had been imparted with the addendum of 'but you may need to teach them their place', though the second half had been largely ignored over time. One of the most disturbing aspects of the Dark Lord's revels had been coming to grips with the violence executed on others, and particularly women. While there were clearly those who'd come from a time and place in which women were seen as lesser than, many within the upper echelons of pureblood homes were expected to treat their partners with courtesy and respect. Physical retribution was frowned upon, even behind closed doors. It had become clear as they'd grown older that some of the aversion to assault was because of the low birth rates amongst some of the families, and the surprisingly enlightened understanding that it may lead to loss of a child or an inability to conceive.

As a result, most of those Rabastan grew up with declined to participate in some of the more abusive aspects of revels, unless they were forced to. Of course, that didn't mean they didn't engage in other acts of debauchery and cruelty, but that was to be expected when dealing with those who were just barely above primates on the food chain. Perhaps this Pucey fell within that realm, which was why he couldn't manage to control himself either.

"Well, there appear to be plenty of people within these halls to protect Ms. Granger," he drawled, slowly, trying to come to grips with protecting the chit.

"Yes, but I'd rather not have to deal with the arsehole at all," grumbled Thorfinn, and those around him nodded, mumbling in the affirmative.

"So for now, we run interference. And once a solid plan comes up where we can get rid of Pucey for good, we take it," said Potter, firmly. There was some reluctant nodding.

"We do have an oversized pond, and I'm certain we can find some reasonable sized rocks on the property. It would be a terrible shame if he accidentally broke his neck on the stairs," mused Rabastan. Rodolphus looked up, shocked, and laughed, reaching over to grip his shoulder.

"I've missed you, brother," he chuckled, the room lightened as those within filtered out. Rabastan stayed close to Rodolphus as the exited, mulling over the revelations in their conversation. One such that stuck out to him was the fact that Granger worked, in spite of having inherited one of the largest and most exhaustive fortunes in wizarding Britain. It gnawed at him that she didn't simply live off the vault, making it harder for him to settle her into the box of freeloader. Though, without knowing what she did, it was hard not to place her in that box as well.

"Tell me, Dolph, what does Granger do for work?" he asked. Rodolphus raised an eyebrow at him, but it was Thorfinn who answered.

"She's an Auror"

Rabastan raised his eyebrows speculatively, "An Auror?"

"Yes," confirmed Ron, "Though she's in a sort of specialized position. Equal desk work and field work time. They're trying to shift her more towards desk work because her brain works a million miles a minute, and makes connections faster than anyone. She's resisted because she likes the field work, but it's just a matter of time"

"That seems... Unexpected," he responded, frowning a little and furrowing his brow. Granger had been known for her quick thinking and reasonable duelist skills, but placing her as an Auror seemed a bit of a stretch.

"Well, you didn't think they'd release a bunch of Death Eaters to a civilian, did you?" asked Ron, amusement written across his face, "That would be a singularly stupid idea, and the Ministry is trying to keep those to a minimum this decade"

In spite of himself, Rabastan snorted with laughter. Some things, regardless of time, would never change. The idiocy of bureaucracy seemed universal, and a record that continually repeated itself. He had little insight to current legislation, but wouldn't be surprised to find it wildly swinging the pendulum in the opposite direction of the last two decades, and missing it's mark just as thoroughly. Something as completely deviant as a marriage law wouldn't even surprise him at this point. The ministry always tried to move with the whims of the masses, but with all the finesse of toddler leaning to drink from a teacup.

Entering into the antechamber, Rabastan noted there were already a few morning visitors and food had been started on the stove, attended by another Weasley – this one missing an ear. There were jovial shouts of greeting, and friends spread out and mingled amongst one another across the room. Rabastan settled into a seat at the end of the table closest to the door, watching the morning ritual with apt attention. It was baffling to him that so many people would congregate in one place morning after morning, and that it was largely an affable affair. Meals with the Lestrange family typically fell into one of two categories – formal dining or drunken brawls. When they ate, it was with reserved conversation that barely touched at current news, and never included politics, personal interests or, Merlin forbid, sporting events. During events where alcohol was involved, however, those lines were frequently blurred or forgotten all together, and eventually ended up with bodies strewn across the grounds in various poses of malcontent, covered in bruises and abrasions.

Interrupting his musings was Lucius, who entered the room with a dark look on his face. He glared at Rabastan, before pinning Rodolphus with a look from across the room. Rodolphus's expression mirrored Lucius's in a heartbeat, and he turned to Antonin who affected a glower as well.

There was a brief pause in conversation as a newcomer crossed the threshold directly behind Lucius, and Rabastan sat up, taking note of the change in energy. He was a tall, lithe man, with short blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a face that that even Rabastan could reluctantly admit was ridiculously attractive and bordering on beautiful. His stride was confident, and his eyes calculating as he perused the room. There was a barely perceptible drop in his shoulders as it appeared he didn't see whom he was looking for, but he recovered gracefully as he slipped down the wall towards Marcus. Rabastan didn't need an introduction to know who he was.

As it turned out, Granger had the gift of terrible timing, and she appeared in the room only moments after her former beau. Book in hand, she made her was about half way down the table and seated herself before she became aware of the stilted conversations around her. Frowning, she looked up, eyes scanning around until they landed on the blonde who was doing a terrible job of trying not to stare at her. Her eyes widened for a moment, before a controlled mask settled on her face, "Oh. Adrian. I didn't know you were back"

The blonde primate smiled, an expression that Rabastan assumed was mean to be charming, but really looked too practiced. Though, that could have been his prejudice due to what he knew of the man. Granger stiffened, and flipped her book shut with a snap, her shoulders slumping a bit.

"Just returned last night, love," Adrian answered, attempting to work his way towards her. Unfortunately for him, there was suddenly a wall of people placed just so to prevent any forward momentum.

"Hmmm," replied Granger, demeanor wilting as he watched, "Well. I suppose. Welcome back?" it was a question, not a proclamation. Rabastan covered his snort with his hand, attempting to mask his amusement unsuccessfully as chestnut eyes flashed at him briefly. She stood then, shuffling awkwardly a moment, before grabbing her book and heading back towards the door.

"Mione, aren't you going to eat?" called out Ginny, glaring daggers at Adrian. Granger shook her head absently.

"No. Not..not really hungry," she answered, slinking back into the hallway.

As soon as she had retreated, all eyes were on Adrian who had the tact of a silverback gorilla, Rabastan decided. If he couldn't tell that he wasn't welcome, and was one step away from being set on fire and tied to a charmed broom, he would have to be the dumbest Slytherin he'd ever encoutered. Though, given the history of inbreeding within some of the houses, that might not be the largest stretch Rabastan had ever made. However, knowing the man was a solicitor made him think he was likely more just used to getting his way rather than being completely impervious to the icy glares being hurled his way.

Rabastan pursed his lips. Perhaps, this was his way in. If he could manage to get this idiot to leave for good, perhaps he could put himself back on more equal footing with Granger and figure out how to get rid of her as well. Maybe it was time to remind the blonde baboon why even the kings of the jungle were smart enough to fear a nasty snake.


	7. Chapter 7

Rabastan found himself back outside after breakfast, using his wand to lift rocks and skip them across the pond. It was cathartic – both the subtle act of magically levitating the ore, as well as the violence of throwing them in a just barely controlled fashion to create the delicate ripples on the water's surface. He was sure there was a metaphor in there somewhere, but for now he just wanted to enjoy the little bit of power he was able to exert.

One stroke with his wand went a little off kilter as a bird flushed out of the grass to his left, and the pebble sailed over the pond on accident, bouncing forcefully off the ground on the other side before exploding mid-air. His eyebrows raised at the blast, looking around to see if anyone else was about to observe it. With no other witnesses to confirm he wasn't going mad, he decided to repeat the happy accident, only this time flinging the rock deliberately at the far side of the water. Approximately 1 meter past the shoreline it burst into an impressive array of powder and fire. He grinned then, chucking stone after stone at the invisible barrier, testing it's limits in distance, height, and size of rubble. The last one combusted with such intensity that small pieces rained down on the water below, disturbing the otherwise glassy surface.

"They're protection wards," came the voice from behind him, and Rabastan jumped in the air, swinging his wand around to point at the newcomer. Ron, he recognized, lifted his hands in front of himself, a faintly amused look on his face.

He was taller than Rabastan, and broader, with a friendly countenance that likely helped him win over allies easily. His bearing was casual, but his crossed arms and wide stance belied an underlying readiness for anything to happen. Rabastan wondered, fleetingly, if it was a result of his role in the war or his training. He suspected it was the former, tempered by the latter. He was the type that would be easy to underestimate, before finding oneself bound and buried under the heel of a boot on the ground.

"Protection wards?" he asked. Ron nodded, pointing up.

"They cover the grounds from just before the gate, to just over the pond, and equidistant on each side. They repel any object or person from entering or exiting, unless they have permission to do so," came the response.

"So, if someone tried to leave without permission...?" he drawled, curious about the vicious manner in which the newest Lady of the Manor work to protect it.

"Not quite as dramatic as what you see with those rocks," grinned his companion, "They just get a strong shock, and knocked out for a few minutes"

"Well, thats... almost disappointing," he responded, frowning a little.

"Yeah, well, Mione is not big on theatrics. And she really hates having to clean up blood, so she's more catch and release than explosions and guts everywhere," came the dry reply. Rabastan's eyebrows raised conspicuously, before laughing at the teasing expression he found. Ron chuckled as well, settling back onto his heels as the two men regarded each other equally for the first time.

"I can understand not wanting to let people out, given the circumstances,"said Rabastan, "But why not in?"

"Ah, well, that's a bit more complicated,"replied Ron, rubbing the back of his head, "It's no secret that Mione is housing Death Eaters...I'm sorry, former Death Eaters here"

Rabastan shrugged – it wasn't as if that was false. And truthfully, he wasn't sure where he fell on the Death Eater to Former Death Eater spectrum, seeing as how the only real difference for himself was the lack of a living master. And maybe, a tiny little, itty bitty speck of respect for the blood traitor in front of him.

"Has she shown you the letters yet?" asked Ron, and Rabastan shook his head in the negative, "Suffice it to say there's a large range of response to the fact that several of you... your colleagues are no longer housed in Azkaban. The levels of passion remain the same, but they run the gamut from extremely angry about it to wanting to come live here, and everything in between"

"That seems... Unexpected,"answered Rabastan, his lips pursing, "Though, there are always those drawn to power and chaos"

Ron leveled an unimpressed look at him, before continuing, "There were a few incidences early on. A few people tried to get in, mostly harmless. A woman ran up to the front door, completely starkers, throwing herself at Dolph. He was mortified, and Hermione had one hell of a time catching her because she'd doused herself in a magical lubricant before slipping through the wards"

Rabastan laughed out loud at the visual, and Ron grinned at him again before his face settled into a more serious moue, "But there were a few who were less innocent. Hermoine was woken up one night by the portraits to find someone walking the halls of the manor with an enchanted knife. He was going room by room, and it was just luck he hadn't found anyone yet. After that she hired someone to help redo the wards and make them repellent. She was afraid someone might just send an enchanted object over if they couldn't get in, so she made them anti person and inanimate object"

"What about the people who come for breakfast every morning?" he asked.

"Ah, only allowed in through floo, or the gates and by special permission. Everyone has to undergo ministry clearance" Rabastan snorted at that, and Ron gave him a rueful grin, " And there are only five attached fireplaces. One from the Auror's department, one from Mione's place in London, one from Harry's home, one from Malfoy manor, and the last is from my place. And the Malfoy manor floo has it's own set of restrictions – only Malfoys are allowed through. So, if you don't know one of us, you can't get here. No one except Hermione apparates in or out, no exceptions. Even Harry and I have to take the long route"

"So, you really have just gobs of people tromping through your house at the earliest hours of the morning? For breakfast?" asked Rabastan, slightly aghast at the thought.

Ron rubbed a hand through his hair, "I'll be honest, mate. It took a little bit of time to get used to it, but I think we...we all just needed to know it was worth it, right? What we went through. We needed to know someone else felt the same way we did. That the war wasn't the end. That we were building something better for our kids. So they wouldn't have to go through the same thing again. I'll take a million interrupted mornings to never have that sick feeling of not knowing if I would wake up again"

Rabastan nodded silently, rubbing his left forearm unconsciously. He knew, far too well, that fear. The uncertainty of whether or not you'd be found and killed, or you'd wake up from some nightmare just to be dragged out of your cell for the Kiss. To never know if some fit of lunacy would lead to the killing curse just because He felt like it that day. Ron tipped his head at the gesture.

"Still hurt?" he asked. Rabastan shrugged again, embarrassed to have been caught. "Mione has a paste that can help take out the sting. It seemed to be the worst for the others the first few months out. Lessens over time"

"It comes and goes fairly quickly," he dismissed evenly, not willing to admit to a failing. The red head eyed him speculatively, but nodded in acceptance.

"Well, if you need anything, Hermione will always be there to help," he answered. Rabastan nodded, before frowning thoughtfully.

"Tell me, how exactly did Miss Granger react when she was given the Lestrange fortune?" he asked.

Ron's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, "Oh. I guess you wouldn't know, would you?"

Rabastan twisted his lips impatiently, "Know what?"

"She didn't want them, actually. None of us did," he started, rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably. Rabastan schooled an impassive look on his face, not wanting to interrupt him, "Harry was offered the Nott family homes and fortune. I got handed the titles to the Goyle properties and vaults. And Neville actually was given your lands and vaults. He turned them down straight away, wanted nothing to do with it. His wife, Hannah, she begged him to think about it because they're not terribly well off, but Neville was firm about it. Wouldn't budge. Said blood money wouldn't erase the past, and he couldn't be paid off"

Rabastan couldn't help the small lift of his eyebrows, "So, how did Granger end up with it?"

"Well, after Neville, they offered it to Hermione. She was going to turn it down as well, but since it's Mione, she asked what would happen if she did. And they told her everything would go to the Ministry then," he answered.

"EVERYTHING?" asked Rabastan, aghast. Ron nodded affirmatively.

"Everything. Same with the Goyle and Nott fortunes if we turned them down. And, let's just say, none of us were comfortable with the ministry having access to that much money, given our history"

"Wise decision. It wasn't exactly difficult to buy our way in," he replied, "Can you imagine the corruption with basically unlimited access to whatever stupid idea crossed the Wizengamot that day?"

"Exactly. And there are a few too many who played both sides of the fence during the war. Given a push in the right direction, they might just pass the sort of legislation we're trying to avoid. There was even talk about a marriage law!"

Rabastan snorted, "I wondered. Something like that comes up at least once a decade"

"Yes, well, it was destroyed before it even had a chance to make it onto the floor. Pucey, actually. He was still trying to win Hermione over at that point," answered Ron, with a rueful look.

"So, Granger took our home and vaults because she didn't want the Ministry to get it's hands on it," summarized Rabastan, prodding forward.

"Ah, yes. But they sat largely unused until the major reconstruction and charity projects started coming in. Rebuilding Hogwarts, War Orphan fund, Diagon Alley Renovation, stuff like that. Where the funds fell short, she would supply the rest of the money. Even paid for supplies for about a quarter of the kids starting Hogwarts this fall. Most of them from older families that had their assets seized. Said she wants the kids to feel as normal as possible"

"Are our investment funds still in place?" he queried. Ron nodded affirmatively again.

"The ones that weren't dodgy were left in place. The ones that were, ah, less than savory she had the money shifted over into more suitable funds. Doesn't make quite as much money, but as I understand pretty much everything that's been spent has already been made back. Mione lives mostly off of her own income. Tries to avoid touching the vaults if she possibly can. Mostly she spends your money for house upkeep and taking care of the inmates"

"Well. Hell," grumbled Rabastan. Ron bestowed him with a knowing grin.

"Pretty hard to hate her, isn't it?"

"Harder than I'd hoped. I'll keep trying, though"

Ron laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, startling him. He couldn't remember the last time someone who wasn't family had willingly touched him in such a familiar manner. In any manner, actually. He smiled hesitantly at the younger man's face, unwilling to confront that budding flower of respect within him.

"Don't worry. She's not all sunshine and roses. She can be a real fright to deal with at times. I'm sure you can find something to hold onto"

"Thanks, that makes me feel much better," he answered dryly. Ron laughed again before turning to leave.

"Ah, I did actually have a purpose for coming out here. Mione asked me to 'Stop that damned lunatic from throwing shit at the wards'. I'd be much obliged if you'd quit flinging rocks at them. I'd hate to have to come back out here again. It's a long walk each time. Makes me cranky"

"You could...oh, right. No apparition. Fine. I'll wait until the next Aurors start their shift," Rabastan replied.

"Thanks, mate!" replied Ron, giving a friendly salute before trudging back to the house. Rabastan watched him leave, conversation mulling over in his head. He had hoped that he could find some flaw, some opening he could use to gain some leverage over Granger, but that was becoming more of a distant dream the more he learned of their current predicament.

There was becoming the distinct possibility he was going to have to change his tactics. Despite everyone's assurances that Granger was not perfect, and was in fact human, her avoidance of common human pitfalls – like money – were making it distinctly difficult to believe that there was anything so glaringly wrong with her that he might be able to grab a hold of it and use to get her out of the way. Even more concerning was that he almost admired her resolution. Almost. It was actually a little annoying that she was so...good.

He pursed his lips. Who actually turned down money like that? Who declined vaults and turned away fortunes because of their morals? How was it that people like that actually existed? And if her integrity was that strong, what was the best way to break his way in? He wrinkled his nose at the answer. He had Pucey, but was that enough? Perhaps, instead of pulling her apart from the outside, he was going to have to find her defects and dismantle them from the inside. And for that, he would have to be much, much closer.

He picked up a rock with his wand, tossing it straight up in the air, before letting it drop to the ground with a dull thunk. He'd never been one to shy away from getting his hands a little dirty and now it looked he was going to be playing in the mud.


	8. Chapter 8

_**You all are amazing, and I'm glad you're enjoying reading this as much as I have been writing it! Rabastan, from what we know of him in cannon (which is not much) has the background to potentially be a complicated character. I chose specifically to avoid using the idea of him being a good person forced into doing bad things, because I think having a character who has core values very different from what we're used to, coming to grips with a world that is in stark contrast to the one he grew up in, makes him more dynamic and interesting and a little more true to life. It makes him someone you sort of love to hate. Or hate to love. Because let's face it - who doesn't get a little hot and steamy over the local badboy? He's not technically a bad person, but his beliefs are stuck in a time and place that no longer exists. And sometimes, that makes it really difficult to write and remain true to character because there are things he says and does that annoy me too. But, hopefully, over the next few chapters, which are a little more lighthearted, you'll start to see someone you like a lot more than you dislike. This chapter, for example, has been one of my favorite to write so far.  
**_

 _ **And thanks for your positive feedback on Ron. I agree that there seems to be the caricature of him as eating too much, yelling too much, and being too hotheaded, and I chose to steer clear of it in this fic. I figured he could use a little salvation, and maybe a little maturity for once ;)**_

 _ **Also, to clear up a question - no, there will be no marriage law in this fic. I used it as a little inside joke, but there's plenty going on without that as a plot point as well!** _

* * *

The next morning she didn't show up for breakfast. For reasons he didn't want to examine too closely her avoidance annoyed him, and he decided to track her down. That was, of course, assuming she hadn't just left for the day. Though his conversation the previous day had confirmed there was a rotation of Aurors through the Manor, given his short duration of stay thus far he wasn't sure whom was present when. He was actually curious to see if Granger was allowed to be in on the rotation, or if it would be seen as favoritism and actively discouraged. He also privately wondered if she would even care if it was.

The sounds of physical blows and grunts drew him to the attic, where he found her beating the figurative and literal stuffing out of a sparring dummy. Inwardly, he admitted he found her technique formidable – for an opponent who was taken by surprise or had limited fighting experience. She was strong, and well muscled, but she was still a witch and she tried to fight like a wizard. She was going for brawn and it would ultimately be her undoing if she was caught unawares.

He stepped into the room, appreciating that it had been renovated to purpose. Large, covering half of the top of the manor, it had an open floor plan and arched ceilings. The floor was littered with mats and weapons, and the signs of a few sparring sessions that had perhaps gotten a little out of control. He approached her from behind, waiting for a break in her activity to speak. He noticed her tiring out, and finally she dropped her arms, panting with exertion.

"Miss Granger"

The blinding pain from his nose probably shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. He had, essentially, sneaked up on her while she was in defensive mode. The blood squirting from his nares, however, did and he almost didn't catch the second blow of her fist, deflecting it before she could add a matching set of broken teeth. That, however, didn't stop her from checking him with her shoulder, shoving him to the ground bodily, hands lifting in surrender in front of himself as he sprawled below her.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, brain finally catching up to action. She lept backwards, lifting her own hands in supplication, "Rabastan! You surprised me!"

"Clearly" he muttered, grabbing his nose with one hand while shoving himself into a sitting position with the other.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit you," she fretted. Rabastan laughed then, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

"I'd hate to see what would happen if you did," he responded. She grimaced, looking around until she spotted her wand on the ground next to the dummy. In two strides she'd grabbed it and returned to him, pointing it at his face, "For crying out loud, it was a joke!"

She blinked at him, and then looked at her hand, "Oh! No! I'm going to-" she waved her hand, gesticulating towards his very broken nose.

He eyed her warily, "I'm not sure if I trust you"

She huffed at him, leaning forward and grabbing his jaw in her hands before muttering, "Episkey"

"I stand corrected. I don't trust you at all," he answered, testing his newly healed nose with his fingers once more.

She gave him an incredulous look, "I just healed your face! Why wouldn't you trust me?"

"Well, for one, you broke my nose" he started, standing up. She huffed again.

"You shouldn't have surprised me" she snapped back.

"For two, you pointed your wand at my face" he continued.

"To HEAL you!" she groused.

"And THEN you performed magic on me without my permission!" he snapped, feigning indignation. He wasn't actually bothered, but the day wouldn't be complete without riling at least one person up. To his new surprise, however, she snapped her mouth abruptly shut, eyes full of understanding.

"Oh"

"Oh?" he asked, his own curiosity getting the better of him.

"Well, I guess I hadn't thought of it that way," she answered, mild embarrassment on her features.

"Thought of it what way?" he responded, trying to keep up with her sudden shift in mood.

"I mean, I guess I always thought that if I was helping it wasn't actually bad to perform magic on someone without asking them first. But, you're right. Even if you are hurt, I've essentially disregarded any consent you have and therefore your right to bodily autonomy"

"Uh," he answered, unsure of exactly what had happened.

"You do maintain the right to your own pain and misery, if that's what you so choose," she finished, a small glint in her eye that said maybe he deserved blood gushing out of his nose for his efforts.

"Do you always reverse your opinion so easily?" he asked, using his shirt to wipe the last of the blood from his upper lip.

"I wouldn't call it a reversal," she countered, turning back to where she'd gotten her wand and picking up a small towel instead, "Just a re-evaluation of facts to determine whether my previous opinions were correct or needed to be revised"

"I believe you muggles have a term for that," he goaded, a little pleased he could manipulate her.

"Oh, this should be good. Please, tell me Rabastan, what term do muggles use for people who change their opinion?"

"Waffle"

She gaped at him, mouth open for a long moment before she threw her towel at him with a wordless sound of anger.

"I see I've struck a nerve," he smirked.

"Changing one's mind does not a waffle make, you arse. Being unable to come to any solid decision at all makes one a waffle," she snapped back, eyes flashing a dangerous whiskey color.

"What good is having convictions if you can't stand behind them?" he challenged. Her lips thinned.

"Is that what you called it? Conviction?"

He felt a coolness in the air, and realized logically he should retreat from the banter he'd instigated. On the other hand, he wanted to get to know her, find her cracks and flaws, figure out where he could dig in his claws and tear her apart. So instead, he bated her, "Called what?"

"That obscene opinion that muggles were less than you? Was that what allowed you to do what you did?"

Ah, the meat of the matter. She wasted no time. Typical Gryffindor. "Muggles ARE less than we are"

"I doubt you've ever met a muggle outside of those you kidnapped for Voldemort, and that's hardly a representative view"

He flinched unconsciously at her use of his name, uncomfortable with the small shimmer of victory in her eyes as he did so, "I'll have you know, I spent a great deal of time in muggle London when I was younger"

"In what, the 70s? I know the wizarding world doesn't change much over the decades, but 30 years is the difference of a few lifetimes amongst muggles. Technology, innovation, medical advances are so far removed you probably wouldn't last 5 minutes even WITH a wand," she snapped back.

"But they're still muggles. Still panicky, afraid of what they don't understand, ready to conquer and annex whatever they think they can use for their own means," he griped.

"Ah, yes, because NO ONE, in the history of magic has EVER attempted to take something that didn't belong to them. NO ONE has ever attempted to conquer others. And certainly not in the last 20 years" she snarled. He had to admit, she was a bit scary when she was angry.

"Taking back what is rightfully ours is not the same as stealing it," he answered, voice a steely calm.

"Muggleborns do not steal their magic. They do not somehow remove magic from you and give it to themselves. They are born with the same magic that you are, but without the advantages of knowing who and what they are until they're almost teenagers," she answered, in the same tone, "And then they're accused of being aberrations, even though they are the most pure expression of magic there is"

He found himself completely unable to respond, mind floundering to even comprehend her meaning, "Pure?!" he managed to gasp.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin. READ A GENETICS BOOK!" she snapped at him. He recoiled, frowning sharply at her.

"Genetics?" he asked, trying the term out on his tongue.

"It's the scientific study of how various traits are passed on from one generation to the next. Sort of. It's a pretty complicated field actually," she answered, tone softening into something more thoughtful.

"And how does that explain that muggles are more pure than we are?" he demanded. She rubbed her head, groaning.

"I'll give you a book. When you've read it, we can discuss magic and it's origins and it's different permutations"

"That still doesn't address the fact that you gave up your position with only what, one question about whether it was right or wrong?" he pushed back, switching topics again.

"I didn't give up my position. I accepted that my view point isn't the only one," she answered primly. He snorted.

"You conceded. Rolled over like a little puppy"

"Would you like me to point my wand at your face again, Rabastan? Because I'm feeling the urge to. Strongly," she growled out the last word, wand twirling around in her fingers as her eyes narrowed at him.

"I just don't understand," he shot back, "How can you possibly have any strong moral convictions or opinions if you can't even stand up to a single challenge"

"What is this actually about?" she asked, perplexed. He pursed his lips, realizing he'd played his hand too far. He was more out of practice than he thought if even a lion could sniff him out.

"Pucey," was all he responded. She froze, the color running out of her face.

"What about him?" she asked, voice suddenly fragile. He frowned sharply. He didn't like it.

"Its my understanding that he did an excellent job of climbing into your head and turning your own intelligence against you" he answered.

"Adrian is...was...He's a solicitor. He uses words like weapons," she responded, the fight draining from her.

"So, because he uses fancier words, he's right and you're wrong?" he goaded. She slanted her eyes at him.

"No. He does, however, raise good points that should be considered equally when creating an opinion"

"Except that he uses that time to run circles around you, metaphorically speaking"

"Well, it's important to consider all sides when developing an opinion," she defended, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Maybe. Or maybe, you should just run with the strength of your convictions" he argued back.

"No" she answered, firmly.

"No?" he asked back incredulously, staring at her stony expression.

"I refuse to believe that my opinions are infallible or absolute" she stated.

"Well, that's stupid" he scoffed.

"No. That's called being empathetic, Rabastan. People who are unwilling to hear the reasons that other people hold their opinions are supercilious, and tend to try and force their opinions on others as fact. It makes us no better than -" she caught herself short, biting off the words, the force causing her to sway backwards. He narrowed his eyes at her, stepping forward into her space.

"No better than what, Granger?" he snarled. She shook her head at him, "You might as well say it. I know you want to"

"No better than Death Eaters," she spat back, "Alright? It makes me no better than the person who carved THIS into my arm"

She shoved her left wrist under his nose, and he jerked his head back, eyes falling on the white scars. He'd forgotten about that. Rodolphus had told him what Bellatrix had done, but he'd been so far gone with fear, and anger, and a little madness at the time he hadn't remembered.

"If you believe that you are no better than Bellatrix, simply because you have some convictions you won't go back on, you are truly screwed, Granger" he stated. He rolled up the sleeve on his left arm, the faded, twisted scar of the dark mark standing prominently out against his pallor, before grasping her wrist gently and holding her arm next to his "Conviction gave this to both of us. Mine was taken willingly. Yours was forced upon you. There's not always a right answer. But you should always have conviction"

There was a long stretch of silence, before Granger looked away from their limbs and back up into his face, "Was there a reason you sought me out, Rabastan?"

He blinked. Why had he sought her out? Perhaps it was to figure out how Pucey had managed to get his hooks into her in the first place. Or maybe it was to figure out how grateful she'd be to get rid of the big blonde baboon. As soon as his nose had been broken he'd forgotten exactly why he'd chased her down.

"I've...forgotten," he admitted, a small grin on his lips. She chewed her lower lip for a moment before grinning back at him.

"Lucky me," she responded, dryly, tugging her arm out of his grasp. He released it and dropped his own back to his side.

"You know, you're not a bad fighter, but you're trying to go for strength. You need to go for speed," he switched topics again. She raised a speculative brow at him again.

"Thorfinn keeps telling me the same thing," she admitted. He nodded at her.

"You're too small. You're never going to beat them on brawn. You've got to get in, do what needs to be done, and get out"

"That's all good and dandy, but Thorfinn fights on strength alone. It's hard to learn speed when your instructor is a walking mountain," she answered. Rabastan rolled up his other sleeve.

"But I'm not"

She blinked at him, surprise and suspicion on her face, "You want to help me?"

"I'm smaller than the others. I know how to move quick and end a fight without a lot of body strength," he answered.

"But...I'm...you're..." she sputtered. He pursed his lips at her.

"Do you want help, or not?"

"Of course. I'm just surprised," she admitted. He shrugged.

"We'll discuss payment for services rendered later," he answered.

"You're not getting your home back. Or your vaults," her voice was firm, broaching no argument.

"Whatever you say, Granger," he smirked lasciviously at her. She pointed a finger at him.

"And no sex either!"

"Yes, just what every man wants to hear. No money, housing or sex. Please, keep incentivising me to help you"

She thinned her lips at him again, before dropping into a ready stance. He mimicked her, but it was over faster than it started. She'd lunged at him, and he caught her wrist – prepared for her this time – and flung her over his hip onto the ground. The next moment found him with her wrists in one hand, one knee pressed against her stomach, the other knee trapping her legs, wand pointed at her neck as he hovered over her.

"Fuck," she cursed. Rabastan smiled cruelly at her.

"Indeed"

"Alright, let me up. Show me what I did wrong," she answered. He paused a moment, pressing his knee more firmly into her stomach, allowing his hands to grind the bones in her wrists together. Her expression morphed into concern, before he felt her twist her lower body to get a leg loose. She was at his mercy like this, and it gave him some satisfaction that if he wanted to hurt her she wouldn't be able to stop him.

There was a firm pressure on the back of his neck, and he was hauled up unceremoniously like a crup, the words "You will let her go, now" growled into his ear.

He dropped her wrists and his wand simultaneously, lifting his hands up in surrender. The hand at the back of his neck spun him around, and he found himself face to face with the angry, flashing brown eyes of one Antonin Dolohov. This time, he noted the tense lines, the firm set of his lips, the twitch of a brow. These were the signs of a man on the edge of his control.

"Thank you, Antonin, but Rabastan was helping me refine my skills," came the voice from the ground. Rabastan rolled his eyes at the defense, but the Russian was not so easily placated. He grunted before he shoved Rabastan away from her, eyeing him as he reached down to help her up.

"Don't take him for granted, little one. He has no restrictions, and he is more dangerous than he looks," came the caution. Granger grabbed the proffered hand and hauled herself up to a standing position.

"Well, now you're here and you can supervise," she smiled into the other man's face. He hesitated, staring back at her, before nodding. Her expression was much more devious as she looked back over at Rabastan, clearly more comfortable now that she had a bodyguard in place, "So, Rabastan, tell me... What did I do wrong?"

He shook his head, "I'm not sure I can cover that in just one lifetime, Granger"


	9. Chapter 9

By Wednesday, Rabastan felt himself going stir crazy. Not that the manor wasn't enormous, and not that there wasn't plenty to keep himself occupied with, but it was actually rather quiet between the madness of morning visitors and the rush of evening activities before bed. While there wasn't the same barely controlled chaos in evening as there was around breakfast, there was still an increased level of hustle around the house as Granger arrived home and the visiting Auror settled in for the night.

That was a little piece of information he had found out the night before when the same enormous man who'd accompanied them to Diagon Alley had showed up silently in the hallway as Rabastan had been exiting the bathroom. He'd almost run into the behemoth, giving both of them a near heart attack, and still managed to forget to ask the man's name as he'd stumbled back down the hall. When he'd relayed the story back to Rodolphus, his brother sheepishly informed him that there was always an extra Auror in residence overnight – two if Granger was away on business. That did not exactly mollify Rabastan's irritation at having his house essentially invaded. And for having such an expansive property, he felt like the walls were starting to close in on him.

So, Wednesday morning found him climbing through the floo, headed back to Twilfit and Tatting's to pick up his new wardrobe and seek a respite from the constant stream of transformation his life seemed to be going through. He waved to Tom as he passed through the Leaky, breathing a sigh of relief as he landed on the open street outside.

Not that it was necessarily less crowded than where he'd come from. In the tumultuous confusion that had defined his days spanning from his release from Azkaban to gaining his bearings in his new station in life, he'd forgotten that he actually wasn't really aware of what time of year it was. And, as it turned out, he shared one trait with Granger after all – the gift of terrible timing. Looking about it became painfully obvious that they were in late August and all the little kiddies with all their parents were out buying supplies for the start of Hogwarts in the upcoming weeks. He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, surveying the barely controlled chaos, pursing his lips at his bad luck.

Contemplating his poor decision making skills a moment too long, his knees were nearly knocked out from under him by the sudden collision of a small human, who wrapped itself around Rabastan's right leg in an attempt to avoid falling down. Stumbling, Rabastan stamped his left foot forward, just barely stopping himself from face planting spectacularly in the middle of the street. Straightening back upright, he reached down and pried chubby arms from off of his person, a grimace settling on his face as he encountered sticky hands. His brows furrowed as he caught brown eyes on top of cherubic cheeks staring up at him while he set the little offspring upright and a few feet away.

"Uh. You...you alright?" he asked cautiously, unsure if the tyke could actually understand him. In a bizarre twist of fate, Rabastan had never really spent much time with children as he'd aged from being a child himself to an adult. One of the youngest of his particular peer group, he'd always been considered the baby, and then had been arrested before his friends married and had babies of their own. And, since it wasn't like Bellatrix was keen on spitting out any little darlings, his experience with kids was limited. As in to this one.

The child nodded solemnly before holding up his right hand, index finger pointed straight up. Rabastan leaned down and tilted his head to the side, "Your finger?" The child nodded again and shoved his hand into his face. Rabastan jerked his head back nervously at the rapidly approaching extremity, narrowly avoiding a poked eye. This time the child's lower lip quivered, and Rabastan panicked. He grabbed the child's arm, staring carefully at his extended finger, noticing a small pink mark on the tip of it.

"Kiss?" asked the child. Rabastan's eyes widened and he favored the boy with a horrified look.

"Pardon?!"

"KISS?" came the more forceful demand.

Relief came in the form of a fretting mother who suddenly noticed her spawn was no longer with her, and was now on the verge of tears with it's arm being held by a former Death Eater. She shrieked as she saw them, rushing forward to grab her child with both arms, "Bertram!"

Rabastan dropped the child's arm, straightening up and lifting his hands up in front of his chest, while blurting, "Bertram? Poor kid"

The blonde woman favored him with a scathing look, backing slowly away from Rabastan as if he was about to strike at any moment. Rabastan schooled his features from surprised, back to bored, turning his hand around as if more interested in his own fingernails as she scuttled away. Mood now firmly settled on annoyed, he pursed his lips again before setting back out for Twilfit and Tattings.

With so many people out in force, there was less obvious evasion around him, though he could feel heat of many stares on the sides and back of his head. He chose to ignore them – he'd been released, he had no restrictions, he had no reason not to be here. And it wasn't like he was capturing crups and skinning them in the streets – though the thought made him wince internally. Maybe Rodolphus had a point about being in public company.

Half way down the road, he was jostled harshly on his left shoulder, and he caught eyes with the person he'd bumped into intending to apologize. The severe glare that met his gave him an internal pause, and a recognition that the shove wasn't an accident. Irritation flared hotly in him then, and he glowered back, curling his lip in a look that had sent more than a few men fleeing during the war. Apparently, a hair cut and clean clothes didn't detract from it's effect because the balding, older man hustled away. Rabastan sighed and shook his head. He didn't want to have to affect that persona just to walk down the street.

Looking around he caught sight of a gaggle of students – probably third years by the sight of them – in a group across the street pointing at him and whispering. He leveled a scowl in their direction as well, and one of the girls shrieked as they scattered.

"You know, if you keep making that face it's going to get stuck that way," came a voice to his right. He jumped, surprised and swung around to face the one person who'd managed to address him. She smiled, leaning against doorway, red hair glowing in the daylight.

"Ginny, right?" he asked. She grinned and nodded, reaching out her hand.

"That's right. I don't think we've formally been introduced, though" she answered as he grasped her hand, placing a chaste kiss on the back of it, "Oh, Hannah was right"

He grinned sheepishly, dropping her hand awkwardly, "Force of habit"

"Nono, please. Don't stop on my account. I'll take all the pureblood manners you'll throw at me," she encouraged, stepping down next to him, "I grew up with 6 brothers. It's nice to see men who chew with their mouths closed and don't greet you by farting next to your face"

He gaped at her, "Your bothers did that?"

"I was lucky if that was all they did," she confirmed, threading her arm through his and leading him down the road. He eyed her speculatively, but she was intent on wherever she was headed.

"That sounds...repugnant," he answered. She shrugged.

"I mean, it was. But it was good for some things. Like developing an effective RBF"

"RBF?" he asked. She chuckled, glancing up at him briefly.

"I forgot, you probably missed out on that little piece of pop culture. Resting bitch face," she answered, "If applied correctly it scares off most anyone who thinks they're going to do something they deem as hilarious, but is actually disgusting"

"And how is that different than glaring?" he asked.

"It's more passive, rather than active. It gives the impression that I'm a horrible cow without actually having to confirm it by moving my lips. Quite convenient, really. Prevents wrinkles, too"

Rabastan laughed then, shaking his head, "You're quite something else"

"Hmmm," she responded, "So are you" she winked at him. He grinned then, folding his other hand over the one tucked in his elbow.

"So where are you taking me, Ginny?" he asked. She tugged him off to the left, and into the next store.

"Oh, wherever seems like a good stop at the time," she answered, though her attention was immediately drawn to the latest broom model on the wall. Looking around he grinned again – Quidditch supplies.

"Fan or player?" he asked as she released her hold on him.

"Ah, both? Can you be one without the other?"

He strolled around the store, looking at the various paraphernalia along the walls before looking at the pictures of the current teams. His lips twisted when he came to the Holyhead Harpies and he looked accusingly over his shoulder at her, "Apparently YOU can't"

She grinned back at him, "Guilty as charged. I play professionally. But I am a fan"

"I hardly know the teams anymore," he confessed, finger brushing over the top of one of the frames. He felt her come up next to his side again.

"Well, the Chudley Cannons are still shite, Victor Krum still rules the Bulgarian team, and the only team you should EVER cheer for is the Harpies," she supplied. He shook his head ruefully, glancing down at the equipment in her arms. She thrust a jersey into his hands and he lifted it up – green with gold talon and the number 22 on it.

"I take it, this is your number?" he confirmed. She nodded.

"If you wear it, it'll drive Hermione spare," she answered cheerfully. Rabastan nodded.

"Sounds like a solid investment"

Leaving the Quidditch store, they chatted idly as they meandered down the street road, finally finding themselves in front of Florean Fortesques. Rabastan viewed the store greedily, and Ginny rolled her eyes dragging him in. They received a few wary looks as they ordered, but he noted they were less openly hostile than when he'd first arrived. Ice cream in hand, she directed him back outside to a table on the cordoned patio outside the shop and they tucked in.

"So, what brings you here today, Rabastan?" asked Ginny finally.

"I needed to pick up some clothes. And, I needed to get out for a bit," he answered honestly, taking a bite of his sundae. She nodded knowingly.

"Gets to be a bit much, doesn't it?"

He made a face around his spoon, swallowing before answering, "I still wake up expecting to be in my cell, smelling like moldy bread with maybe one of the jailors walking by to make sure I'm alive twice a day. And instead, I'm in my room and there are people... Lots and lots of people every morning"

"I grew up in a big home. Lots of people is what I'm used to, and it can get overwhelming for me. I can't imagine going from a small family to solitude and ending up with..well THAT" she responded sympathetically. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of himself.

"Do you live with family now?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No, I live in a flat downtown," she blushed a little, "My boyfriend just moved in with me, but we're keeping that quiet for now. I'd appreciate you not sharing that little fact with anyone"

He mimicked locking his mouth shut, "This mouth is like a vault"

"Hmmm," she answered, "I'd hate to have to put you back outside the circle of trust"

He raised an eyebrow at her as he took another bite of ice cream, "Circle of trust?"

She groaned, "Oh, Merlin. We're going to have to catch you back up to speed Lestrange. You cannot be this clueless when it comes to pop culture and current events"

"I feel like I should be insulted," he pouted back at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Six brothers. Your powers of sulk won't work on me. I am the queen of whiny boys"

"Hm. Is that what you tell your boyfriend?" he asked, drawing out the word boyfriend. She laughed at him, reaching over to slap his shoulder. He looked down at where she'd touched him, surprised at the contact.

"Marcus is not a whiny boy," she responded. He tipped his head, perking up.

"Marcus? As in Flint?" he asked. She paused, glaring at him.

"Yes. Marcus as in Flint. As in Seeker for the Ballycastle Bats"

"He's a seeker? Huh. I would have pegged him for a beater for sure" he answered.

"I know, most people do. His size is imposing, but he's actually quite nimble" she replied, digging in for another bite. He smirked.

"Are we still talking Quidditch?"

As Ginny burst into laughter, Rabastan's attention was caught by a passerby who hocked a loogie over the cordon, landing in his half finished bowl of ice cream. His good mood sank, and he screwed up his face in revulsion. The red head gasped, flinging her spoon at the offender, and hollering at him as he darted off into the crowd, "You better run you asshat! YOU BETTER HOPE I DON'T FIND YOU!"

Rabastan sighed, tossing the rest of his ice cream into the bin, "That's disgusting. Who ruins perfectly good ice cream like that?"

Ginny shoved her bowl over towards him, producing two new spoons and gesturing him to join her. He hesitated, catching her eyes with his own, before taking a small spoonful, giving her a grateful smile. She reached over, patting him on the arm, "I can't even imagine what you're going through, Rabastan. This has to be so new for you. Just remember you've got some friends out here too, ok?"

The knot that had been winding tighter in his chest loosened a bit, and he blinked. He'd had people he'd considered friends growing up, but time and circumstances had mangled their bonds to be at best acquaintances. He wasn't sure he even remembered how to have friends. Nodding mutely, they finished their dessert in silence. As she threw her cup away and stood, she reached over and tucked her hand through his arm once more, starting up an ongoing string of gossip as she followed him finishing his errands.


	10. Chapter 10

_**As always, you all are amazing! Thank you for taking the time to read and review! It really is a highlight of my day :)**_

Rabastan flooed home, in hopes of finding some silence for the evening. While the rest of his trip in Diagon Alley had been largely uneventful, the few incidences of barely controlled hostilities had chewed little holes in his confidence throughout the rest of the day. In spite of reassurances from Ginny that everything would be fine, he'd found himself watching everyone with a level of suspicion that hadn't been there earlier. By the end, he was tired mentally as well as physically, and in desperate need of some peace and quiet.

The scene he came across in the foyer, however, was closer to barely controlled chaos. Thorfinn and Antonin were bellowing at each other, Antonin's hands fisted at his sides as he shoved his face into the younger man's. Thorfinn was giving as good as he got however, and neither seemed inclined to back down an inch. On the side, Rodolphus attempted placing a calming hand on Thorfinn's arm – which he brusquely shook off, before placing his own hand on Antonin's chest and shoving. One of the Aurors – Dean he thought – was standing on the other side of the room, watching the two men fight and Granger...

Granger was nowhere in sight. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. There was no way she didn't know what was going on, unless she wasn't in the house. He was pretty certain the two men yelling at each other could be heard in the next county over, so unless she was completely deaf it was unlikely that she couldn't hear them. He turned towards the stairs and marched up them, bags still in hand to find the self-appointed warden of their little Bastille.

After a brief stop in his room, he continued down the hall towards the study – which he discovered suspiciously empty. He frowned briefly before continuing towards the office. It was a small room that was located just past the Master suites, used for conducting business when his father had been alive. He hadn't seen anyone in it since his return, but he hadn't really sought it out either. It would make for a handy hide out for someone attempting to avoid, say a giant brawl in their parlor.

He passed the same spot on the wall three times in different directions before it occurred to him that there was a notice-me-not spell on the door. Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, he took a deep, calming breath in to relieve his ever growing irritation and anxiety, as the sounds of the altercation increased. Putting all his effort into focusing, he finally put his hand on the knob of the office door, twisting it and throwing himself inside.

As soon as he shut the door, he found himself in blissful silence. Well, perhaps, blissful-lack-of-brawling was more accurate. There was the sound of a fire crackling, and some peaceful music playing in the background, but no blustering or shouting. He leaned his back against the door, closing his eyes and willing the pounding in his head to go away.

"Can I help you with something?"

Granger's aggravation bled into her question, and he opened his eyes to find her staring at him from next to the desk where she was going through a stack of papers. He raised an eyebrow, pushing off the wall, pointing back the way he'd come, "Do you know what's going on out there?"

"Do I know that Thorfinn and Antonin are two seconds away from beating each other to a bloody pulp?" she asked sharply, "Yes. I am quite aware. It's why I came in here, with this" She pointed to a bottle of elvish wine on the desk as well.

"They might hurt each other. They might even kill each other" he responded, walking towards her. She turned away from him and nodded her head, humming.

"They might," she agreed. Rabastan pressed both his hands on the desk and leaned towards her.

"Aren't you at all worried about that?" he demanded. She took three of the papers she had in hand and chucked them into the fire.

"Not particularly. I mean, the paperwork will be a beast, but at least they would both be blissfully silent" she answered. Rabastan scowled.

"So, they can be beaten, starved, and tortured to death in Azkaban and that's not ok. But if they kill each other here, Battle Royale style, that's alright because they annoy you?" he snapped back. She turned, assessing him with a cool stare.

"Thorfinn's right. You are dramatic when you're not getting your way," she responded. With a flick of her wrist she summoned a second glass and poured some wine in it, before pushing it towards him. He blinked at her before taking the goblet and swallowing a healthy gulp.

"Aren't you supposed to be a bit more concerned about them?" he asked. Hermione sighed, chucking five more pages into the fire before drinking from her own glass.

"I am concerned. But Thorfinn and Antonin fight like this once every few weeks, and thus far no one has died. So I just keep holding out hope," she replied, a small smirk around her mouth, pointer and middle finger on her right hand twined around each other facetiously. He huffed, and then chuckled a little bit at her blasé attitude. She turned glittering eyes at him, "There were a grand total of four of you in this giant house growing up, right? You, Dolph, your mom and dad, right?"

He nodded affirmatively, "And the house elves"

She rolled her eyes, "Yes. And the house elves. Well, I grew up in a smaller house than this as an only child. There was me, my dad and my mum. No house elves," she interjected dryly, "And my parents never fought when I was around. So this" she waved her hand nebulously around her, "Is a lot"

"But you signed up for it," he argued. She finished the rest of her glass in a gulp and refilled it.

"Rabastan, what did you think you were going to do after the war?" she asked. He blinked at her.

"I thought...Well, I figured I was either going back to Azkaban or I was going to come back here. Maybe settle down, start a family," he answered truthfully. She smirked at him.

"What do you think I thought I was going to do after the war?" she questioned. He tilted his head, mulling over the question as he sipped on his wine. What would the brainy swot want to do after the war? Revamp the Ministry? Fight for equal rights for Werewolves? Change the world? He said as much to her, and she laughed at him, "Tell me, what were you doing for the last year of the war?"

He raised a brow at her speculatively then, "Mostly managing the ministry, with small interjections of torture and looking for you three"

"Do you know what I was doing for the last year of the war?" she asked, and he shook his head. He'd heard bits and pieces over time, but no one had ever put all the pieces together for him, "I was traveling all over the countryside of Great Britain trying to hunt down horcurxes with teenage two boys in a tent that smelled faintly of cat pee, while attempting to avoid snatchers. We were in the Forest of Dean in the middle of winter, and nearly froze to death more than once. But that might have been a nice change of pace from the actual risk of starving"

Rabastan frowned. It sounded terrible, but then he'd survived 15 years in Azkaban, and he was pretty certain that trumped anything else. As if reading his thoughts she waved her hand at him.

"It was no Azkaban, of course, but it was miserable. So my plans after the war, assuming we survived and won, were finding some nice, quiet little flat and maybe settle down and start a family. I was even looking forward to some quiet job that didn't involve a lot of notoriety or even much mental effort," she answered, catching his eyes with her own, "But that didn't happen. Everything didn't just end with the war"

He nodded. He knew that feeling. Nothing ever ended with a battle. The big fights, the important fights, they happened afterwards and behind desks that passed down sentences or newly created laws. They were the daily drudgeries that changed history – both personal and societal – not the physical fights.

"I didn't come here thinking, 'Oh goody. Now I can have three convicted criminals under my care. What a great way to get back at them!'" she sighed, "I did what I did because no one else would. No one else cared enough to do anything"

"That's an exhausting way to live your life, Granger," he drawled at her. She turned, looking into the fire and sighed, one arm crossed under her chest, palm supporting the other elbow with wine glass in hand.

"You're right. It is. Which is why, sometimes, when I've had a long day, I just let them fight instead of shoving myself into every stupid pissing contest. They're big boys. They can work it out on their own," she answered, voice infused with tired honesty. He looked at her more closely, noting her hair sticking up wildly out of it's confines, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, forearms covered in a dark salve and weary expression on her face. She looked completely drained.

"What happened to your arms?" he asked, swirling the wine around in his glass. She groaned.

"Some tainted mail got through the sorting system. If I never see bubotuber pus again, it'll be too soon," she groaned. He laughed in surprise at her, and she shook her head in his direction.

"I wondered about the post," he replied. She grimaced.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner. It's been a hectic few days, and I just completely forgot about it," she replied, turning back towards the pile on her desk.

"So, owls can make it through the wards then?" he teased her.

"Yes, no magic shock for the owls. But the post comes here and goes through a sorting system. Usually does a good job of looking for any nasty spells or objects, but every now and again something like bubotuber pus manages to slip through. Let's just say, I've had enough slime on my arms to last me a lifetime or two" she shuddered, rubbing her forearms absently. He wrinkled his nose at her, the faint smell wafting towards him at her movements.

"That's...vile"

"Yes. So, keep it in mind when you open your own mail," she replied. He raised a speculative eyebrow at her.

"Assuming I get any. I'm pretty certain the vast majority of my..." Friends? Acquaintances? People he created mayhem with? "...are locked up behind bars. Or are here"

Hermione grasped the pile of paper at the end of her desk, "These are letters to your brother," she said, before putting it back down and grabbing a second stack next to it, "And these are for Antonin" she pointed at a third pile further down, slightly larger than the other two, "And THOSE are for Thorfinn. Acquaintances have nothing to do with it"

"Who...?" he asked, before remembering his conversation with Ron.

Hermione wrinkled her nose, "Have you ever heard of a man named Charles Manson?"

Rabastan shrugged, he had, though he couldn't remember the specifics. He was pretty certain he'd heard Him talk about him once as well, though his memory was a bit hazy, "I've heard the name"

Hermione sighed, dropping the pages back on her desk, "Charles Manson was a serial killer in the States in the late 60s. He...He formed a cult, called it his Family - mostly women. He was only convicted for a few of the murders committed, because most were performed by people he talked into doing them for him" Rabastan shifted uncomfortably, her eyes on him knowingly, "After he was put away for murder, he continued to get thousands of letters from women who claimed to love him, want to marry him, want to be part of his Family"

Hermione gestured towards the stacks of letters, "Your brother and the others... They get similar. And I have to deliver them to them, because that's part of the job of taking care of them. But every day I have to read through their mail before I deliver it to them," she paused looking back at him, "I'm absolutely certain you will end up with similar. And I won't filter it for you. So I suggest you be very cautious with whatever comes your way"

They regarded each other quietly, sipping on their respective glasses in the muted room. Rabastan mulled the conversation over in his head, wondering exactly how much she filtered their mail. Did she remove the pieces that were angry or enraged? Did she decide to only give them the ones that were vile reminders of whom they were? Or did she only give them the weird love letters from women they'd never met and never would?

There was a faint chiming sound in the room, and he noticed her shoulders tense. Taking a chance that it meant there were people close, he smirked at her as he removed the notice-me-not charm on the door. Seconds later it flung open, and Thorfinn and Dean tumbled into the room. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and hissed, "What are you doing?"

"Well, warden, it seems that your charges need some help," he answered innocently. She growled at him, looking over at the other two men who were shoving each other back and forth. As she drew up to her full, diminutive height, she eyed him speculatively again, before schooling her features into a calm, bright smile.

"You're right, Rabastan. They do," she answered, before brushing past him. Dean and Thorfinn stopped immediately as they took in her expression, looking at her, and then him, and then back again. Both snapped to attention, spines straightened, hands at their sides.

"Dean," she started, "I think we've had this discussion before. You're an Auror, not a five year old. You don't shove the criminals around. If you need to control them you do so with the tools required, understood?"

The dark skinned man nodded silently, stepping towards Rabastan as she turned her attention to the other man, "Thorfinn, how long have you been here?"

His shoulders hunched sullenly, "Six months"

"That's right," she answered, holding up her hand to stave off his impending interjection, "And for 5 and 3/4s of those months I've been telling you not to just walk into anyone's room whenever you feel like it. You are currently quite lucky that Antonin isn't allowed to use his magic, because I'm pretty certain that he would carry through with my threats of removing your dangly bits. Now, I'd really hate to see you confined to your rooms because of your lack of self control. But that's where this is going next. So, please, consider the fact that the only face you might see is that of your grandfather's portrait on the wall of your bedroom for the next six months and contemplate your next few days wisely"

Thorfinn paled and nodded at her, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand, before muttering, "Sorry, Hermione"

"Honestly, I don't care if you're sorry. I just want you to stop being a big idiot, and use that brain that we both know sometimes resides in your skull," she answered, tone firm and calm, "Now, stay here and I'm going to get some bruise salve for you"

She glanced back over at Rabastan before leaving the room, bestowing the same bright smile on him as she crossed the threshold into the hall. As she left, he could see Dean shaking his head in his peripheral vision.

"What did you do?" asked Thorfinn, assessing Rabastan from his spot near the door.

"What do you mean?" Rabastan frowned.

"That's...That's her scary smile. That's the 'you've fucked up so bad you're probably going to wake up buried in the garden' smile" replied Dean.

"I'm not sure what happened, but I suggest you repent or flee," said Thorfinn, wincing as he flexed his fingers.

Rabastan scoffed, "And you call me dramatic"

Thorfinn laughed then, a full belly laugh, shaking his head, "It's your funeral. But don't say we didn't warn you"

Rabastan scowled at the two men, before depositing his glass on the desk and stalking out of the room. There was no way she could be scarier than anything he'd already faced. Let her do her worst.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Alright, I know I'm setting up a lot of ducks and we haven't quite hit the meat of the story yet. Just keep hanging on, we'll get there, I promise!**_

Thursday morning breakfast was a muted affair. Only Draco and Harry were in attendance outside of the regular inhabitants of the manor, something that Rodolphus informed him was normal as the evening festivities would make up for the paucity of visitors at the first meal of the day. Settling into the seat that was quickly becoming his at the end of the table, he hummed a little, not sure how he felt about the change in morning atmosphere. While the morning rush could be overwhelming, the sudden drought was just as disconcerting, and he found himself struggling to adjust once more.

Antonin had made breakfast that morning, and though he appeared no worse for the wear externally from the previous night's altercation, he winced as he settled into his own seat. Rodolphus gave him a knowing look, and the Russian shrugged before digging into his food. Draco and Harry settled around them, chatting about cases they were working on together. While Lucius had mentioned the two worked together, it turned out that Draco had a position focused on international magical law enforcement, while Harry's position was locally based. They traded information, and developed interests in each others work, but did not often work directly together.

Rabastan had to privately admit, Potter sounded much more compelling when discussing something he was passionate about. Taking attraction out of the equation bestowed the man with more confidence and eloquence, and his demeanor belied an underlying strength that he often seemed to lack when dealing with the fairer sex. It made him more enigmatic, and believable, and Rabastan found himself less annoyed by and more interested in what he was saying.

Similarly, Draco seemed to have grown out of his wet blanket phase, and become an adult in his own right. An adult who was now married and expecting his first child, which simultaneously chuffed and scared Rabastan. He'd heard through the grapevine about the birth of Lucius's child during his first stay in Azkaban. To know that this being he still often confused for an intangible future progeny was now actually a mature, fully grown person who was bringing his own progeny into the world was somewhat disorientating. There was a small swooping sensation in the pit of his gut when he gave too much attention to the fact that he, himself, hadn't managed to carry on a successful relationship in the last several decades of his life, much less produce any offspring of his own. Then again, with only his parents and Rodolphus's marriages as models to look to, it perhaps wasn't such as surprise as to why he'd never made it a priority.

"Draco, how is Narcissa?" he asked. The younger man paused in his conversation, surprise mapped across his face, before it became shuttered.

"She's well," he answered shortly, and Rabastan wrinkled his nose.

"I haven't seen her since I've been back," he observed. Draco shared a look with Potter, and shrugged.

"She prefers home," Draco evaded, and Potter smirked.

"What he's trying not to say, and failing miserably at, is that some people haven't adjusted well to post-war changes," responded the dark haired man, and Draco scowled at him. Potter laughed in return, leaning back in his seat, "You know it's true. She barely tolerates me when I go over there, and I saved your life"

Rabastan raised his eyebrows, "So, she doesn't approve of...?"

"Of this pretty little prison? No. Of Hermione? No. And of Dad's newfound respect for the little Mu-" Draco hissed and glared at Potter, reaching down to rub his shin, "Muggleborn! I was going to say muggleborn you arse!"

"That's..." Surprising? Unexpected? Relieving? "...interesting," Rabastan sipped on his cup of tea, and the two younger men weighed him with twin assessing looks. After a long moment, they looked back at each other, silent conversation warring across the table. Draco nodded at length and turned back to Rabastan.

"I'm sure my parents would be happy to see you if you need a break from this mad house," invited Draco. Rabastan frowned thoughtfully for a moment, and nodded.

"That would be nice, actually"

"Why don't you stop by later this morning? I'll let them know you're visiting before I leave for work," the blonde man replied. Rabastan nodded, attention drawn away by Granger's entrance into the room. She looked every bit the mess he would have expected Antonin to appear, with hair sticking up, fiercely out of control around her head, dark circles under her eyes, sluggish energy, and still wearing faded pajama pants with a tee shirt that clung to her curves a bit too closely for propriety's sake. She dropped into the chair next to Rodolphus's and he reached out to put an arm around her automatically, squeezing her briefly against him before releasing her again.

"Rough night, Granger?" asked Rabastan, as he took a bite of egg off his plate. She glowered at him, pointing a finger and shaking her head.

"No talking to me yet," she replied, before plunking her head down onto her arms on the table. Potter chuckled from his spot next to Rabastan, and Draco surreptitiously shifted one chair further away from the muggleborn.

"Hermione is barely functional before her first cup of coffee in the morning. Especially after a night like last night," he supplied. Hermione turned her head to pin him with a one eyed glare and he laughed a little harder at her, "I'm not saying anything that isn't true!"

Antonin placed a mug in front of her at that moment, and she grabbed it greedily with both hands, drawing a long pull before groaning in a not entirely appropriate manner as it slid down her throat. Sighing down at the drink, she breathed in deeply, "Oh, sweet coffee, giver of life. How I love thee"

Rabastan paused at her exhalations, his own personal anatomy having taken some interest in the noise that had made it's way past her lips, "Do we need to give you two some privacy?"

She scowled at him, "I said no talking, Rabastan"

Potter raised his eyes at her response, and turned that speculative eye on Rabastan again, "We don't poke the bear before she's had coffee in the morning. It's the only thing that keeps all parts attached to our person, and not on fire"

He nodded silently, willing a certain part to go back to sleep and ignore the suddenly intrusive thoughts about what other sounds that mouth might make. He shifted a little in his seat, hunching forward as he continued to, now silently, eat his breakfast. The conversation around him continued, a touch muted, and he listened thoughtfully to their chatter. Thorfinn finally joined the group, looking approximately as awful as Granger did, and dropped down into the seat that Draco had vacated. She grunted at him, and he muttered something unintelligible back at her to which she nodded at before taking another pull from her coffee. Antonin reached over and placed a mug in front of Thorfinn as well, who looked up at the older man with a contrite expression.

Antonin shrugged, before sitting back down, and the two men went back to chatting with each other as if nothing had ever happened. After finishing her cup and a slice of toast, Hermione groaned again – this time a more pained sound than erotic – and left the room. Rabastan observed Thorfinn watching her carefully as she dragged her feet back out of the door, and around the corner before he himself groaned and thunked his own head on the table.

"I'm so fucked" he muttered into the table. Rodolphus smirked at the younger man, sharing an knowing look with the Antonin.

"Do tell, Thorfinn," he prodded. Thorfinn hit the table with his head again.

"I think I'm in love with her," he mumbled, barely intelligible against the wood. Rabastan choked on his own mouthful of toast.

"No you're not," came the immediate, and simultaneous response of the other men in the room, leading to an awkward chuckle.

"I know..." moaned Thorfinn, "But I feel like I am"

Rabastan grabbed his glass of water, clearing out his esophagus before stuttering, "I'm... you're... WHAT?"

Antonin reached over, clapping the blonde viking on his shoulder, "Thorfinn has succumbed to Hermione's charming smile and winsome ways"

Rabastan was pretty sure his jaw had completely unhinged and was settled somewhere on the floor. To his right, Potter started laughing harder before being joined in by Draco. He turned and gaped at the two younger men, before looking back at the other three.

"I'm...What?" he repeated.

"Thorfinn has developed feelings for his jailor. It's a not uncommon psychological phenomenon. Muggles sometimes call is Stockholme syndrome, though that's a little more squicky than these blokes," answered Potter, gesturing broadly at Antonin, Thorfinn and Rodolphus – the latter of whom had the grace to look at least a little embarrassed. Rabastan wrinkled his nose as the revelation.

"You...you all?" he stumbled again, expression settled on disgusted. Rodolphus rubbed the back of his own head sheepishly.

"In all fairness, Hermione was the first nice person I'd met in like 20 years. And it lasted a total of about 5 minutes, before she told me I was, and I quote 'An idiot and a creeper'" chuckled the older brother, "And she was right. We moved out of idiocy relatively quickly"

"Antonin never explicitly announced it, but there were a few weeks where he wouldn't leave Hermione's side for longer than it took for either of them to use the restroom. He's the reason her wards repel anyone from entering her room at night," supplied Draco. The Russian man glowered at him, but didn't deny it.

"Did they actually work on you?" asked Rabastan before he could stop himself. Antonin shrugged.

"I can't use my magic, so I couldn't tell if I could get by them. Plus, I figured if it was that important, I should respect it," he answered. Antonin was a largely honest creature, and never embellished upon nor omitted what he'd done. It was one of the most esteeming and horrifying aspects about his personality, because when Antonin told a story you could guarantee it was true. All of it. Regardless of what was said.

"Even Lucius had a brief puppy love period, I think," mused Potter, and Draco pulled a face but nodded in agreement, "It passes. It's just awkward for a bit"

"Does...Does Granger know?" Rabastan asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, sour look still on his face.

"As much as she knows when any man is interested in her," snorted Draco, before scowling and wincing again at Potter, "For fuck's sake Harry, Tori is going to start asking about the bruises. And what am I going to tell her? My mate keeps kicking me in the shins?"

"At least she'd believe it," snorted Potter back, before looking at Rabastan, "She knows. Though, Draco's not wrong. She just ignores it, figuring it will go away because she has no confidence with relationships"

"Well, thus far it has," answered Rodolphus, turning his attention back to his breakfast. Rabastan didn't miss the way Potter glanced at Antonin discreetly before nodding in agreement. Determined to change the topic, Thorfinn loudly brought up the topic of quidditch, which had half the table groaning again and Draco dropping his napkin on his plate before making his excuses and leaving the room. Potter managed to keep up with the conversation for a few minutes, before he made the unforgivable gaff of saying the Chudley Cannons were having a good season, which was Rabastan's cue to leave.

As a casual player and watcher of quidditch growing up, he enjoyed the physical aspects of the sport, but wasn't a particularly rabid fan. If the World Cup was in Britain he would happily procure tickets to watch, but if it was elsewhere he probably wouldn't know the winner until after the match had ended. So, endless conversations about who was playing, and who was doing well, and who was absolute hippogriff shite really didn't do anything for him.

He stopped briefly at his rooms to grab a pair of clean robes, tossing them on before heading to the Floo in the foyer – conscientious of his conversation with Ron several days prior. Fortunately, it appeared that he'd been allowed clearance to Malfoy manor, and he stepped into their own beautifully decorated foyer only moments later.

The first thing that struck him was the change in lighting. Whereas the manor had always been exquisitely furnished, it had largely relied on darker and more masculine colors to exude it's wealth to visitors – as if the size of the building and surrounding grounds wasn't enough. Now, however, the walls were lighter shades of creams and blues, and the furniture leaned towards fair colored woods. It gave the room a more open and inviting feel compared to previous years.

Lucius stepped into the foyer just as Rabastan arrived, and greeted him with a smile and a handshake before guiding him into the drawing room. He gestured for the younger man to sit in one of the chairs across from him.

"To what do we owe the pleasure this morning, Rabastan?" asked Lucius. Rabastan smiled, leaning back against the recliner.

"Just trying to get out and about a bit," he responded lightly, trying to fall back into the flow of conversation that spoke volumes without actually saying anything. Lucius nodded knowingly, standing up briefly as Narcissa entered the room. Rabastan mirrored the action, but the Malfoy matriarch waved her hand at both of them.

"Rabastan, it's a pleasure seeing you," she greeted, her smile a bit strained. As he took in her face, he noted the fine lines at the corners of her eyes and lips, and the glow of a little too much glamour applied around her eyes. It appeared that the years had finally begun to catch up with her, likely amplified by the strain of the ever changing world around them. She no longer looked the effortlessly put together witch he'd known in his youth.

Or, he contemplated, perhaps she'd always had those fine little flaws, he just hadn't noticed them before now. The thought caused him to twist his lips briefly, before he settled back down into his chair, "It's a pleasure to see you, as well, Narcissa. I was just asking Draco about you this morning"

Her smile became more fragile, and her eyes fixated on him, unblinking, "Oh? I've just been busy keeping this old place running" she demurred.

He nodded, "It looks lovely. I'm sure the renovations and daily care have been quite taxing"

"Not that taxing," snorted Lucius, and Rabastan favored him with a critical look.

Narcissa flushed a bit before responding, "Well, there's quite a crowd over at your estate on a daily basis. I'm surprised that my absence was even noted"

"Always, darling," Rabastan teased back, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as he saw her shoulders relax a bit.

"How have you been adjusting?" she asked, voice a touch softer than it had been when she first arrived. He gave her a meaningful look, and she tilted her head at him.

"It's been a significant adjustment. I sometimes feel as if everyone I've known has been replaced by exact copies, just with different memories," he answered. Narcissa nodded tightly.

"I understand the feeling. A lot has changed in the last several years, and I've been watching it happen day by day"

"I'm just trying to figure it all out still," Rabastan replied, before looking at Lucius, "I'd like to know a little more about the laws that allowed our estates to be seized and given away, however"

Lucius regarded him from over the edge of a teacup for a moment, before nodding as well, "They were passed rather quickly after the end of the war. No one seems to really know where they came from, but they were shoved through a special session with the Wizengamot with almost unanimous approval"

"That's not surprising," Rabastan snorted in response, "Taking advantage of the chaos"

"Yes, well, information about the laws were vaguely worded initially as well. It wasn't until Miss Granger that it became clear the money that wasn't given away would be held onto by the ministry"

"I've heard that," confessed Rabastan. Lucius nodded again.

"After that little tidbit was uncovered, most of the vaults that were seized and offered were accepted by members of the Order. There are, however, still a large number unaccounted for. We suspect that the Ministry decided to just hold them for personal purposes, but it's hard to track down the accounting and accountability for them," came Lucius's irritated drawl.

"Is there any process in place for families regaining access to their accounts?" Rabastan questioned. Lucius smirked at him, knowledge flickering behind his gray eyes.

"The last time I looked at the paperwork, it was fairly airtight. Property seized and redistributed remained owned by the recipient until death, at which point it's either passed down to children or, assuming premature demise, returned to the Ministry indefinitely"

Rabastan made a face, strumming his fingers on the arm of the chair thoughtfully, "Leave it to the Ministry to finally make something unassailable when you least want it"

Lucius chuckled, "Yes, well apparently we did such a good job of finding loopholes, they have really tightened down their language"

Rabastan snorted indelicately, mulling over the words in his head. This was not going to be a simple process. It was Narcissa, however, who cleared her throat, "I suppose this is just the woman in me, but it would seem the easiest answer would be quite obvious"

Rabastan and Lucius both turned to her, brows furrowed, "What do you mean?" asked Rabastan. Narcissa allowed a little smile to quirk at the corner of her mouth.

"It seems clear that the quickest way to regain control of your former Estate would be to marry the new owner"


	12. Chapter 12

The long beat of silence was deafening, before Rabastan acknowledged a sharp, shrill, "WHAT?"

He looked expectantly at Lucius, who was gracing him with a bemused expression, and realized quite abruptly that he himself was the one who'd asked the question. His ears buzzed, and he swung his head back around to Narcissa, narrowing his eyes at her twin expression to the one her husband was wearing.

"Well, it makes sense, doesn't it?" she responded primly, crossing her legs at her ankles, "How is wealth inherited? Through birth, marriage or death. Since your heritage, by birth has been taken away by force and reclamation by death has been removed as an option, marriage would be the best way to restore what is yours"

He opened his mouth to respond, but only a wordless noise of distress left his lips. Lucius made a small noise, and he looked back at the Malfoy patriarch, who was in the process of pressing his lips into a thin line. Rabastan sucked in a sharp breath, shaking his head side to side, "That's not happening"

Lucius cleared his throat, " It's not an option, anyhow. There are actually restrictions in place to prevent marriage from being used as a way to regain control. Apparently, there were some fears that marriages may be forced at wandpoint"

Rabastan cleared his throat, uncrossing and recrossing his legs, his brain slowly restarting, "I'm not getting married to Miss Granger. Wandpoint or not"

Narcissa shrugged elegantly, "I just thought I would mention it. Sometimes, the ends are worth the means"

"I hardly believe Miss Granger would agree with you," replied Lucius evenly, a small tick at the corner of his left eye his only indication that he disapproved of where the conversation was going. Narcissa frowned openly at his response.

"I don't much care what Miss Granger does or does not agree with," she snapped back, and Rabastan raised an eyebrow in response. He'd never heard her take that tone before, ever. He attempted to reschool his face before she looked back at him, "That girl has been meddling for the past few years, and I'm just not sure how much more we can take"

"Meddling?" he asked. He noticed Lucius had become very still in his periphery, fingers clasped around the handle of his teacup firmly.

"Oh, you know. Like setting up that house of yours as a prison. Taking over your vaults, and then giving out money like it's a gift. I'm sure she certainly enjoys how the tables have turned," came the waspish reply. Rabastan forced his face to remain impassive, not liking that his inner voice immediately perked up with a 'Well, actually, she hates having so much responsibility and would probably rather be drinking copious amounts of alcohol on a beach in Fiji'.

"Narcissa," came Lucius's cool response, "We've been over this. Miss Granger covered the cost of supplies for the students from displaced families because she didn't believe that what happened to them was right or fair"

Narcissa snorted indelicately, "Just fifteen years ago Lucius you were damning that girl alongside the rest of us. She had nothing, barely knew that she was a witch. And now she's got more control over our lives, our history, and our society than most families that have been here for the last millenia"

"She's also an honorable person, and doesn't wish to harm anyone. She IS the reason I am sitting here right now," came the grated reply. Narcissa sighed sharply.

"Yes. I'm aware. As you keep reminding me"

Rabastan thinned his lips, "I have to agree with Narcissa here. In spite of her, ah, benevolent appearance, it is quite disconcerting to have someone that wished to free house elves in such a position of power"

Narcissa gave him an appraising look, "Thank you, Rabastan. At least there's one voice of reason here"

He didn't particularly like the twist in his gut at her endorsement, and he really preferred not to consider the reasons why it bothered him. Granger, he tried to remind himself, was the enemy. She had come from nothing, and was no one, and should return to both of those things. The fact that she was taking care of his brother was inconsequential. The fact that she'd saved four men who'd tried to kill her from gruesome death in a prison that toed a touch too far into cruel and inhumane territory, was simply backstory. The fact that she was trying to care for a world that didn't want to care for her, in spite of knowing it, was irrelevant. And the fact that he knew all these things about her was annoying and distracting from the plot.

"Miss Granger I believe means well, but is somewhat like the colonists arriving in a new world. She lands on shores she doesn't know, tries to annex the country and change the culture to suit herself, never asking why that society developed as it did in the first place. The fact that she claims to have a right to be there is simply more preposterous than the fact that she's there in the first place," he replied, but the words felt wooden in his mouth. Lucius scowled at him openly.

"And we, of course, did such a wonderful job of welcoming her here upon her arrival," he scoffed back. Rabastan paused, twisting his lips. That thought, actually, hadn't occurred to him.

"We provided her with an education," he argued, and Lucius leaned back in his seat.

"We provided her with formal magical education. There is no education on wizarding society or expectations in school, which puts muggleborns at a distinct disadvantage," Lucius responded smoothly.

"It sounds like you've had this conversation before," Rabastan accused. Lucius nodded.

"With the subject herself, no less. Miss Granger is no stranger to feeling like an outcast in her own world. She's is intelligent to excess, and with parents who did nothing to rein her enthusiasm in as a child she found herself on the outside of most of her peer groups. It should come as no surprise that someone who struggled to create relationships in one world might continue to encounter difficulties doing so in another, especially where the rules are unknown to any who live outside it," he replied. It was Rabastan's turn to scoff.

"You sound positively Bohemian, Lucius," he replied. The blonde haired man regarded him with a thoughtful look.

"Perhaps. Though, after my recent experiences with incarceration, I suspect my insight lies more in the empathy that comes from being released into a world where the rules are so far removed from what I recognize, that I find myself struggling to fit in," he answered coolly. Rabastan felt his lips bending into a frown. That struck closer to home than he was comfortable admitting. Narcissa cleared her throat on the other side, standing. The two men stood immediately as well, disrupting their conversation.

"I'm so sorry, Rabastan, I have a pressing matter I need to attend to," she said shortly, expression frail and shuttered. He reached out to place a chaste kiss on the back of her hand.

"Of course, Cissa. It was a real pleasure to see you today," he answered. She gave him a wan smile before nodding at her husband and sweeping out of the room. As she left the two men settled back into their seats again, and Rabastan turned a questioning look at the older man. Lucius sighed.

"Narcissa has struggled with no longer being at the center of high society," he confessed, "And it's brought a lot of tension into our home"

"No balls to plan or attend?" Rabastan asked, gentle teasing in his tone in an attempt to lighten the mood. A small smile quirked at the edges of Lucius's lips.

"Unfortunately, with a convicted felon living under the roof, no social events are to be had. And social calls are restricted," he wrinkled his nose, "Not that there are many of those now, either"

"Where are most of the others living?" asked Rabastan curiously. Lucius tipped his head to one side.

"Some fled England all together. The Rosiers are currently stationed in France, as are the Trawleys. The Parkinsons escaped to Portugal, leaving their daughter behind," he made a face at the revelation, "Young Mr. Nott and young Mr. Goyle are allowed to live in their residences, and were given a reasonable trust to live off of until they could secure a career for themselves. The rest are largely housed around London, trying to find work"

"They truly have nothing?" Rabastan confirmed. Lucius sighed and nodded.

"Unless the person who received their fortunes was kind enough to set some aside, they lost it all," he confirmed.

"Is anything being done?"Rabastan asked. Lucius raised a questioning eyebrow, "Are there any programs being set up to ensure they have money, or housing, or a way to earn a living?"

Lucius resettled in his seat, picking a piece of lint off his trousers, "That, I have limited knowledge about. I understand there are discussions about how best to assist those so displaced, but as you can imagine they're... Well, fraught with disagreement might be the kindest description"

"Not so moralistic after all," Rabastan muttered in response, and Lucius pinned him with a sharp look.

"Perhaps you can bring it up to your head of house," he smirked in return, and Rabastan scowled once more.

"Not funny," he grumbled, ignoring Lucius's short huff of laughter at his sake. He shifted in his seat again, changing topics away from Granger's current status, "Tell me about Adrian Pucey"

Lucius smiled then, a cold, cruel, imitation of what it should be, and leaned back, "What do you wish to know?"

"I don't recognize the surname," he probed. Lucius nodded, steepling his fingers together.

"The Puceys are not one of the Sacred 28, but they are a wealthy, mostly pureblood family. They settled in Britain in the late 1800s, and they've held a seat on the Wizengamot for the last fifty or so years. A fairly ambitious family, mostly solicitors and politicians. They've been trying to break into the highest eschalons of society for as long as they've been around, but always circled just around the edges," he answered. Rabastan nodded, rubbing his jawline.

"So, that's what Adrian was attempting?" he asked. Lucius shook his head.

"I think it was a combined effort. One to get access to the top of the New World Order, and the other to claim Miss Granger as a prize," he answered. At Rabastan's skeptical expression he shrugged elegantly, "Ambitious, remember? We've all wanted the one thing no one else could get"

"Clearly, his lack of societal education is showing," grumbled Rabastan. Lucius nodded.

"Yes, well, unfortunately, not everyone is taught that it's deplorable to strike a woman," came his growled reply, "Though, I'm curious as to why you care so much"

Rabastan hesitated, unsure of how much he should reveal to his former friend turned comrade turned unfamiliar acquaintance. After a pause, he decided on truth, "I intend on getting our home and vaults back"

Lucius stopped himself from snorting, but just barely, "I see. Have you spoken with Rodolphus about this?"

Rabastan shook his head, "No. I'm not sure he'd be terribly amenable to the idea"

The older man nodded his head, "I would say that's an accurate assessment"

Rabastan sighed heavily, "I don't understand"

Lucius favored him with an empathetic look, perhaps the first he'd ever seen from the blonde man, "I would suggest you talk to him. Roddy, he... Well, none of us adapted quickly nor easily to our current situations in life. I imagine it's the same for you"

"I don't particularly want to adapt," he bit back icily, and the kind expression slid from Lucius's face.

"Then you're going to learn the same lessons we all did. And I assure you, it's not so easy to ignore when the shoe is on the other foot," he warned. Rabastan bristled, falling silent and strumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. Lucius sighed then, and stood, gesturing for the younger man to follow him.

"Come, let me show you some of the changes to the Manor," he encouraged. Rabastan nodded, following him out of the parlor into the rest of the estate.

The rest of their morning was held in casual conversation, pointing out rooms that had been renovated, the wings that had been completely redone, and the places that had been gutted and replaced. Rabastan was surprised to see most of the expansive changes, but when he gave fleeting thought to the last year under the Dark Lord's rule, he could accept why one might not want to have reminders of their deeds along the halls of their house.

It hadn't always been that way. Even he could admit the last few years of their stewardship had steered frighteningly off course from how they'd started. The Knights of Walpurgis had been more of a thought experiment, a consideration of how the world might be in different circumstances. As their culture had become more infiltrated with muggleborns, it had become a way to separate themselves from those who didn't appreciate the effort that had gone into creating and supporting their little protected society. A way to prove worthiness of their heritage.

The shift into murder had been slow and subtle. It had started with bullying those who were muggleborn, before deviating into more physical acts of violence, and then taking on a life of it's own by exacting retribution for... Well, that was the rub of it. He couldn't directly remember why they'd begun killing muggles. And that realization was quite unsettling. There were holes in Rabastan's recollections when it came to his childhood and adolescence, and most of his first visit to Azkaban was a long black chasm that mixed nightmare and reality into a composite he would likely never be able to pull apart. And truthfully, he wasn't sure that he wanted to, given what resided there now.

When he had escaped, it had been into a world where he'd been forced to stay hidden, and his childhood lessons had been validated in an echo chamber of blood purity and homeland preservation. But, the plot seemed to have shifted, and suddenly abstract conversations were being used as definitive endorsement to expunge anyone who was not a pureblood from the region. With the tattered edges of his sanity flapping about him, he'd dove into the task with as much ferocity as he could, desperate to replace the tortured remnants of old remembrances with new, tangible, real memories. Ones he could look to and claim as being his own, not just mis-remembered dreams.

The fact that his memories were of performing and saying terrible things, was relatively inconsequential in the long run. Dementors removed good thoughts, fed from despair and desolation. If he was going to go back to that hell hole he wanted to have nothing left they could feed on, nothing else they could take from him. His violence was a cloak he could shelter himself from the only world he solidly remembered, existed in, belonged to. During his second stay, the Dementors had been removed, however, and Rabastan had had to live with the soul eschewing realities of his acts. In return, he'd developed little compartments in his head to place a veil over the worst of his depravities, distancing himself from them. Most of his life was now dotted with ugly acts of malice, and he couldn't deny that he'd performed them himself without significant coercion. He just couldn't remember all the reasons why he'd done so.

The only benefit he could claim from his last stay in Azkaban was that the loss of Dementors, and relative quiet that came from that, allowed him to catalog his thoughts and regain some of his lost rationality. He'd taken to creating time lines in his head, slowly putting dates and deeds together in chronological order, eventually recreating his life in the small packets he'd retained. He assumed he'd never be completely whole, but functional and sane were fully within his grasp. His aspirations now laid with moving forward and covering those dark alcoves in his mind with new, pleasant experiences so that perhaps, someday he wouldn't only be a shadow of whom he might have been, given the chance.

As the afternoon dwindled on, the two men found themselves back in the foyer, exchanging farewells. Lucius promised he would be by later that evening, passing on a nebulous warning for Rabastan to fortify himself for what was to come. As he stepped back through the Floo, he tried to ignore the cold coil of anxiety that settled into his stomach, unsure of how much more congeniality he could take.


	13. Chapter 13

_**First off, thanks for all the reviews again! I've had a rough couple of weeks with work, and your reviews have made me laugh and think, and plot even when I don't always feel like it :) You are all awesome and totally make my day!**_

 _ **Second, the last part of this chapter is actually what inspired this whole story. I was listening to "Yesterday" by Imagine Dragons, and with the lyrics in mind, the whole scene jumped into my head. I'm not a big songfic person, so I didn't write all of it in the chapter, but I encourage you to look it up if you want to know where my inspiration came from. The lyrics are really appropriate for pretty much any reformed person (such as former Death Eaters). From that mental scene, the plot grew out into the story it is now :) And if there's now a video for the song (the album came out the week I thought this plot up, so no video at that time), it had zero influence on my story creation.**_

 _ **And finally, we're starting to catch up to the chapters I've managed to write so far. I attempt to keep ahead of my stories by a few chapters so I can keep them rolling out steadily, but because of how busy stuff has been at home, I'm currently only one chapter ahead at this point. All that means is updates will probably slow down a little bit until I can catch up on some writing time again. I promise it'll keep going, though!**_

Whatever he had thought would happen that evening was about as far a cry from reality as possible. He'd thought that mornings were busy around the Manor, but this... This was near insanity. It appeared that most of wizarding Britain was determined to fit through the floo and into their dining room, and somehow they were all managing to do it. Faces he knew, faces he didn't know, faces he wasn't sure were even old enough to be there. But, present they were, and in surprisingly good spirits.

Even more impressive was the wealth of food that kept trickling in. Well, food and alcohol. Every person that arrived had their hands full of some sort of entree or dessert or beverage, and soon there were pots and pans and trays practically piled upon each other on the table in the antechamber. Granger had referred to it as "buffet style", and while Rabastan was a little confused as to what that meant, he was quick to catch on to the idea of grabbing a plate and scooping it as high as possible with food before finding a spot in the dining room to eat.

As he settled into his seat, he looked in amazement at the scene around him. Their dining room had always been grotesquely large, despite their rather small family, and often felt cold and uninviting. They'd eaten most dinners there, with the far end of the parisian style table stretching in seeming perpetuity away from them, designed originally to seat 12 on each side. In spite of it's size, the birch wood monstrosity had barely taken up half the room, illuminated by a ludicrously ornate crystal chandelier that still didn't manage to reach the gloom of the darkest corners. Now, it appeared at some point the table had been expanded to make room for up to 24 on each side, though none of the seats seemed to match. The portraits that had once lined the otherwise bare wooden paneled walls had been removed, and replaced with school house tapestries and banners from various quidditch teams. Even the chandelier had been taken down, and four sets of hanging lights brightened the room with a warm, welcoming glow.

Among the visitors, there were clearly cliques of close friends, and a few dark looks passed briefly, but overwhelmingly no one seemed particularly put out by anyone else. And there was conversation. Gobs of congenial conversation, which was about as foreign to Rabastan's memories around this particular table as the idea that people might actually want to engage in a get together of this magnitude. And even more, he reminded himself that they did this weekly.

As he tucked into his meal, Rodolphus came and sat down to his left, giving him an appraising look, "How are you doing?"

Rabastan shook his head, gesturing, "This is..."

"It's quite something, isn't it?" asked Rodolphus, gently. Rabastan nodded affirmatively.

"And it happens every week?" he confirmed. Rodolphus nodded, glancing up as Lucius joined them. Antonin was at the far end of the room, laughing of all things with the Weasley that didn't have an ear, while Thorfinn was seated in the middle, chatting with a group of strangers he didn't really recognize.

"How did it get started?" he asked. Lucius shifted in his seat.

"Like anything, small enough. Rodolphus was sulking," he smirked at the glare the older brother sent his way, " and Hermione was about ready to kill him, so she decided to invite Draco, Narcissa and I over for dinner as a buffer. The next week, Mr. Potter was spending the night so he joined the festivities and invited Mr. Weasley – Ron" he clarified.

"And then, somewhere along the line more people were invited to join and eventually..." Rodolphus gestured at the room around them, "Eventually we needed to expand the table and expand the room, and it became this"

"Is there anyone in Britain not here?" asked Rabastan facetiously. Rodolphus laughed and Lucius chuckled.

"Narcissa," pointed out Lucius, before spearing a piece of asparagus on his plate perhaps a bit more viciously than necessary.

"Some of the older followers and older Order members," confessed Rodolphus, scooping up a forkful of potatoes.

"Followers?" asked Rabastan, "You mean Death Eaters?" Rodolphus shrugged and nodded.

"Sometimes Minister Shacklebolt shows up, and then it's a whole different type of circus in spite of him insisting on everyone treating him like a normal person," continued Lucius, sniffing a little.

"Minister... As in Minister for Magic?" clarified Rabastan, and both of the other men nodded.

"You know, he was a member of the Order. He and Hermione are friends, so he drops by from time to time to visit. Unfortunately, because he's Minister, that means a whole extra level of security around the house. It makes it difficult to have a comfortable conversation when one guy who's bicep is the size of your head is busy staring you down the whole time," replied Rodolphus. Rabastan snapped his fingers.

"Yes! That one Auror, the behemoth who scared the snot out of me the other day. What's his name?" he asked excitedly. Rodolphus snorted in return.

"Haven't the foggiest. I'm a little afraid to ask him," he confessed. Rabastan stared at his brother a moment before breaking out in laughter.

"Peeled the face off some lackwit in Knockturn alley for looking at you the wrong way, but can't ask a guy his name," he chuckled. Rodolphus grimaced as he picked up a cooked tomato off his plate.

"Ugh, let's not discuss that while we're eating," he answered before popping the vegetable into his mouth. Rabastan shuddered a little at the dueling visuals, putting his own fork down.

"What are you not discussing?" came a voice from behind them, and Rabastan startled, looking into Granger's eyes just over his right shoulder.

"We're NOT discussing the most disgusting ways we've ever killed people," came Lucius's slightly queasy reply from his left.

"Oooooh, this ought to be good. Thorfinn!" she snapped her fingers at the blonde man half way down the table. He tilted his head at her summons, making his excuses before moving down closer to where they were seated. Granger moved around the table, sitting directly across from Rodolphus. Ron, whom he hadn't seen initially, settled down in the seat to her right and Thorfinn took the seat directly to her left.

"What's going on, Princess?" he asked, and Granger wrinkled her nose.

"No. No nicknames, Thorfinn. It's bad enough this one," she pointed at Ron, "Can't even be arsed to say my full name. We are not going any further off the reservation than that"

"Off the reservation?" asked Rabastan, brow furrowed in confusion. Granger sighed at him, giving him the patient look a parent might bestow on their child.

"It's a muggle saying, from the States. Involved the Native Americans and - " she paused, her brows drawing closer together and she pursed her lips, "You know, it's not nearly as amusing if I have to explain it. And it might even be a little racist. Probably bad use of it, really"

Ron snorted next to her, taking a long draw off his pint, "Leave it to you to not only explain a saying, but talk yourself out of ever using it again"

Granger scowled at the redhead before reaching over and grabbing Thorfinn's stein, taking a drink to his faint protest, "Rabastan was discussing the most gruesome ways in which you lot have killed people"

A plate was placed down in front of her, accompanied by a pint of her own, and Potter settled into the seat on the other side of Thorfinn, exclaiming, "Oooooh, this ought to be good"

The four former Death Eaters exchanged looks before Lucius threw his napkin on the table, "Leave it to you lot to be interested in the macabre"

"I spend half my time filling out paperwork, and the other half arresting mostly drunken morons who are sparking fireworks out of their wands while singing 'Odo The Hero' in muggle London. Please, indulge me," came Granger's dry response. Rodolphus laughed, leaning back in his chair.

"You're all a little messed up in the head, you know that, right?" asked Thorfinn, mouth full of turkey as Granger wrinkled her nose at him.

"Well, I did have Voldemort in my head for the first 17 years of my life. Sometimes I get a little nostalgic," came Potter's mocking response.

"I suppose," started Rabastan, "the entrail expelling curse would be pretty high up there"

Granger paused in the middle of swirling some spaghetti around her fork, looking at it thoughtfully for a long moment before shrugging and stuffing it into her mouth. Lucius chuckled, and leaned back as well, "Do you remember that one gentleman? Kept running, got his foot twisted in his own guts?"

Rodolphus groaned, shoving his own plate away from himself, "Oh Merlin, I'd forgotten about him. Didn't it turn out he was on some sort of pain potion? Felt nothing until he dropped dead three miles down the road"

"Well, that was probably good because most of his intestines were left two miles back," replied Rabastan, taking a swig of a rather robust ale.

"Eh, standard order entrail expelling curse. That's not that exciting," said Potter, breaking his dinner roll into pieces before sopping up some gravy with it.

"I had to feed more than my fair share of people to that damned snake. Alive, bound, and how the hell did it's mouth open so wide?" said Lucius, shaking his head. Granger nodded.

"It was a mystery. And why was she hungry so often? Most snakes only eat once a week or even less. It seemed like you lot were constantly using her to clean up your messes"

"Well, her or Greyback," came Thorfinn's thoughtful reply as he stuffed a chunk of roast into his mouth.

"Oh, yes. What ever happened to him?" asked Rabastan, wiping the foam off his upper lip.

Potter snorted, "Got himself shot, if you can believe that. He'd fled to the States and settled into some little backwoods community in Georgia I think. Apparently he was tormenting some of the neighbors, and wandered onto the wrong property. The owner shot him, with a silver bullet no less. Though, I'm pretty sure the fact that it was point blank range and half his head was blown off probably had more to do with his death than the alloy"

Granger chuckled darkly, grabbing another bite of food, "I still say it was too kind of an end for him"

"You would," accused Ron, and Rabastan tilted his head in askance. Ron smirked and pointed at the curly haired witch, "Ask her about Umbridge"

"Umbridge?" responded Rabastan, "That pink, squat looking thing?"

The others burst into laughter together, and Potter pounded his fist on the table, causing Rabastan to jump a little in his seat, "That's the one. I wondered what you all thought of her"

"Ugh, she was..." started Rodolphus, struggling to find the words.

"Repugnant," finished Lucius, and they nodded.

"Didn't she try to throw herself at you?" asked Rodolphus, eyeing Rabastan who shuddered as the memory came to surface.

"Repeatedly. She even cornered me in the bathroom one time. All I could see was a pink bow and flabby lips," he answered, face screwing up in revulsion. Narrowing his eyes at Granger he asked, "What DID you do to her?"

"I mean," she answered, looking down at her plate innocently, "*I* didn't do anything to her"

Potter snorted again, "She tricked the old toad into going into the Forbidden Forest with us, where she was kidnapped by a herd of Centaurs"

Rabastan gaped at Granger, who was looking very fixated on the tablecloth, "Centaurs? That's..."

"Perfect," came Lucius's response before he laughed, "How is this the first time we're hearing of this?"

"Well, it wasn't exactly my proudest moment. And I wasn't necessarily going for Centaurs," she answered, before looking up and meeting Rabastan's eyes with her own, small smile on her lips, "Acromantulas would have worked just as well"

Rabastan laughed out loud, feeling a twinge of appreciation and respect for the woman in front of him, "Antonin would be the best person to ask about torture. He was particularly creative about it"

Granger's face turned white at his statement, hand freezing half way to her stein for the briefest moment, before continuing the motion and taking a long swig. The cup trembled in her grip as she placed it back on the table. He watched Ron pause a moment as well, reaching out to squeeze her knee. She gave him a wan smile before looking back at Rabastan, "That was my understanding as well. I do wear a consequence of that"

"Oh?" he asked, confused. The only time they'd had any prolonged contact during the war was at the Department of Mysteries and the final battle, so far as he knew. Antonin hadn't been able to return in time to see her at the Manor when she'd been captured.

"When you were running around with a baby head, Antonin managed to get a curse on Hermione," supplied Potter, and Rabastan felt his cheeks warm up. He'd chosen to try and forget that particular disaster.

Granger coughed, "Yes, well, I survived, we survived, and I have a neat little souvenir from following the Boy-Who-Lived into another of his half baked plans"

As Potter opened his mouth to protest, a large cheer went up from the far end of the table. Granger groaned a little, but grinned as the cheering turned into singing. Mugs were raised and voices called down the sides of the table. Rabastan raised his eyebrows, but lifted his own mug as the words washed over him.

 _Here's to my future, Here's to my yesterday, Here's to change, Oh, here's to my yesterday, No tomorrow without a yesterday, Here's to my future, Goodbye to yesterday, Yesterday_

In the middle of the second refrain of the song Thorfinn reached over and dragged Granger laughing and protesting into his lap, snugging an arm around her waist. She reached up and pinched one of his nipples, which caused him to grimace, but he kept his mug raised in the air.

As foam sloshed over the sides of their steins onto Potter's lap he yelped and jumped out his seat, reaching over to slug Thorfinn in the shoulder before poking Granger in the side, who also jumped, dumping most of her drink in her own lap. Ron laughed at their antics, before turning to wink at Rabastan in solidarity. As the song drew to a close, he reached his own glass over and tapped the edge to the younger brother's before drawing a large pull out of it. Around him, everyone was clinking drinks, sharing laughter, calls of appreciation and friendship before sucking back most of their beverages. Even the pregnant girl was trying to imbibe as much of whatever was in her glass she could before slamming it back on the table to cheers around her.

As Rabastan watched the people around him engaged in easy camaraderie, for the first time since his release he felt longing for more than what he had, and more than what he remembered. He wanted to feel affection for others the way these people – this motley group of persons who should never even talk to each other, but somehow were here laughing and cheering and SINGING with each other – felt for one another. He wanted to belong. Chugging the last of his drink, he placed the stein on the table and looked back over at Granger, who was glaring at a stupidly grinned Thorfinn, his face turned up towards her.

And for a just a moment, he wanted to know how she'd made it all happen.


	14. Chapter 14

As dinner dwindled down, guests began to filter out of the dining room and moving throughout the rest of the house. Rabastan had assumed as the food was finished, and booze began to disappear that they would leave. He, apparently, was mistaken.

Granger managed to disengage herself from Thorfinn, who'd summarily been distracted by a dark skinned, dark haired girl that giggled and dragged him out of the dining room and up the stairs without much further discussion. Potter and Ron had moved towards friends, Potter looking rather awkward as he attempted to make conversation with the woman he recognized as Pansy from the study the other day. Ron was busy chatting away with a tall, brown haired boy who'd just arrived with a blonde woman on his arm. As she turned to face him and offered a wave, he realized with a start that he was looking at Hannah. He returned the expression warmly, waving back, only to find himself caught in the dark glare of her husband.

"Ah. Neville Longbottom," came Rodolphus's voice from his side. Rabastan winced and nodded.

"I gathered. I take it you two aren't close friends?" he replied wryly. Rodolphus grimaced.

"I think torturing one's parents into insanity puts you permanently on the 'Not invited' list," he affirmed, "Though Hannah is very pleasant"

"I'm surprised," Rabastan confessed, "I can't imagine he's particularly pleased about that"

"I haven't exactly asked him. Though, he does respect her a great deal, so while I can't imagine he's chuffed he probably doesn't badger her about it," came the reply. Rabastan hummed in response.

He'd never been particularly good at relationships himself, though whether that was a lack of good role models, lousy timing, or just his somewhat selfish nature it was hard to say. He'd had a few dalliances here and there, but none had ever really caught his attention long enough to make it official. And certainly none had ever been interesting enough to consider making a permanent fixture of his life. While he'd been pleased that his brother had managed to marry someone he presumably loved, and whom made a great match, he'd been doubly pleased that his marriage had essentially released Rabastan from any marital obligations. Not that he was morally opposed to the idea, just that his heart and his cock had different ideas on what made a great partner. More on point, in his youth, typically the type of women you married weren't the type you could shag rotten. And he'd always liked his women a little more rotten than good.

An arm threaded through his right, and he startled a little, looking down into the amused royal blue eyes of Ginny. She grinned impishly up at him, and he felt himself grinning back, unwinding his arm from hers and instead hugging her against his side, "When did you get here?"

"A bit ago, though we were...detained," she answered, blushing lightly and flicking her head to her right. Her boyfriend stood a few feet away, a mildly amused expression on his features as he watched the two of them together, arms crossed over his chest. Marcus Flint was a large man, rivaling Thorfinn for height and brawn. He was, perhaps, a shade shorter, with leaner hips and legs, but his upper body was at least as broad. Rabastan caught the peak of a scar on his left forearm, and glanced back down at Ginny tucked against his side with more a more complete understanding.

Rabastan reached out his right hand to shake Marcus's, "I'm sure it was worth it"

The larger man smiled then, a grin that took up most of his face, chasing away the brooding shadows that seemed to live there, "Always is"

Ginny pulled herself up on her toes, murmuring in his ear just loud enough for him and Marcus to hear, "Nimble, remember?"

Rabastan couldn't hold back the laughter, and Marcus blushed a little even as he chuckled as well, "Are there any rooms we should avoid?"

"Tonight? You should avoid all of them except your own," claimed Ginny, and Rabastan could see Rodolphus nodding out of the corner of his eye. He wrinkled his nose.

"Really?" he asked, and Marcus rubbed the back of his head, not making eye contact before responding.

"I'm not sure about all rooms, but I can say with absolute certainty you should avoid the second bedroom on the left"

"And I think I saw Parvati dragging Seamus into the first bathroom on the right," responded Ginny, thoughtfully.

Rabastan turned a curious eye on his brother, who blushed and refused to meet his eyes, muttering, "I have no comment"

"Does Granger know?" asked Rabastan and Ginny laughed.

"Trust me, Hermione knows about everything that happens in this place. And she turns a blind eye because she knows even prisoners get conjugal visits, and a satisfied wizard is a happy wizard is a less likely to mope wizard"

Rabastan glanced up at Marcus, "You hear that? She's trading sex with you for complacency"

The big man shrugged, "Still getting the better end of the deal"

"Come one, let's head to the ballroom," came Rodolphus's amused voice as he grabbed him by the sleeve, steering him out of the dining room as he released Ginny back to Marcus's care. Rabastan watched curiously as people split up around them, some wandering outside, some wandering upstairs, and the majority headed for their family's main ballroom on the main level.

Pushing through the double doors into the expansive room, Rabastan gaped at the changes. He'd been in here just a few days ago, finding the room covered in dust and old furniture. Now, it was immaculate, with couches and chairs scattered about, facing a wall that had a long, white screen pulled down over it. People draped themselves across the furniture, continuing to chat away, anticipation hanging in the air.

"Movies after dinner," murmured Rodolphus, and Rabastan glanced at him confused. He knew of movies, had even watched them a few times when he was younger, but he had no idea that they could make them work in the wizarding world. Rodolphus pointed up at the small, glowing box, hanging from the ceiling, "Hermione managed to get a few muggle items working around magic, including the projector and DVD player"

"Dee Vee Dee?" he asked, trying the word out on his tongue. Rodolphus raised his eyebrows and then nodded, a mildly contrite expression on his face.

"Ah, yes. It's the technology used to allow muggles to watch movies in their homes. Fascinating invention. Amazing that it all works without magic"

Rabastan noted a change in his brother's expression once more as his eyes drifted over his shoulder, and he turned to see what Roddy was looking at. Pansy had just entered the room behind them, and moved over to greet the pregnant blonde. He looked back at his brother, raising an eyebrow, "Is there a reason you don't like that one?"

Rodolphus gave him a look of feigned innocence, "What? I don't know what you mean"

"Please. You may have everyone else in this house fooled, but I know who you are and what you're capable of. And I know, for whatever reason, you don't like Pansy," he replied. Rodolphus shook his head.

"It's not that I don't like her, I just don't... She's not...She's..." he fumbled for a response, Rabastan thinned his lips at his brother's struggle.

"I'm a bitch," came the new voice from behind them, and Rabastan startled at the sound. He swung around to face the brunette, noting the pursing of her lips and tension around her eyes. She looked up at Rabastan's face and presented her hand, "Pansy Parkinson. Resident Slytherin bitch"

He paused a moment before shaking it perfunctorily, "Rabastan. I'd say welcome, but I feel like I'd be both overdue and wrong"

Pansy snorted, giving a little flip of her hair, "Roddy doesn't like me because I'm not all buddy buddy with Hermione. And Hermione doesn't like me... Well that's a long story, but the feeling is mutual"

"Then why are you here?" grated Rodolphus, eyes narrowing at the younger woman.

"I was invited. By Harry. And Hermione, actually," she replied, voice saccharine sweet. Rabastan couldn't help the little snort that slipped out, and she arched an eyebrow at him. He quite suddenly understood a little more of his brother's distaste – she had a way of making someone feel like a bug on the bottom of her shoe, "So, are you all moon eyed over the curly haired menace as well?

Rabastan managed to bite back a laugh, shaking his head tightly, "No. I think it's best to describe our relationship as 'barely able to tolerate'"

"That sounds familiar," came her retort, "Though, don't think it's just one sided. Hermione is polite, but she has her preferences"

"Maybe if you weren't so deliberately antagonistic," came Rodolphus's tight voice. Pansy rolled her eyes before looking over at the brunette entering the room.

"Hermione," she called, and Granger turned towards the voice, mild irritation present on her features.

"Pansy," she replied curtly.

"Tell me, do you think we should be friends? Don't you want to be bosom buddies?" asked Pansy, sarcasm lacing her voice. Granger sighed, glaring briefly at Rodolphus before answering.

"I think we'd both rather be dipped in acid before trying to spend time together willingly, Pansy," she replied. Pansy nodded back.

"Lathered in honey and left for the bugs" she returned.

"Razor burned and smothered in rubbing alcohol"

"Forced to swim in a pond full of giant leeches"

"Required to hand feed a paddock full of blast-ended screwts"

"Compelled by the board of Governors to repeat advanced potions"

Granger shuddered at that, "I'd almost take shopping with you over another of Snape's diatribes"

Pansy snorted, "Except maybe for his excitingly large hands and that voice"

Both girls paused, sharing a knowing look before nodding secretively. Rodolphus cleared his throat and Hermione cracked a small grin before responding, "No worries, Pansy, the disinterest is mutual. I will not force friendship bracelets on you, and you will not be required to braid my hair"

"Thank Merlin. I'm pretty certain a house elf couldn't control that mess"

Hermione made a dismissive gesture with her hand before heading over to the electronics and setting them up. Pansy turned back to the brothers and nodded at them, "Gentlemen. It was nice to meet you Rabastan. Rodolphus, as always...a treat"

Rabastan wrinkled his nose as the brunette wandered away, "She's...interesting"

Rodolphus snorted, "She's something. And I don't dislike her because she's not friends with Hermione"

"You just dislike her because she's a bitch? Because, as it turns out, that's probably a valid reason," Rabastan replied offhandedly. Rodolphus laughed sharply, patting his brother on the back.

"Come on. Enjoy your first full Thursday night mayhem," he answered, directing them over to a large couch. Rabastan sank into the soft seating, leaning comfortably against the armrest as he stared at the blank wall directly ahead. Within moments the lights in the room were dimmed and the movie flared to life.

His heart skipped a moment as music rose around them, and familiar yellow writing scrolled up the screen. He turned, quickly to look at Rodolphus who had knowing eyes on him, and he blinked. His brother nodded at him, and he turned forward once more. His mind floundered, and he sucked in a hard breath.

There was the feel of a hard wooden seat under his tailbone, and he could hear the murmur of people around him. The smell of popcorn wafted through his nostrils, and he felt at the weight of the bucket in his lap. The bright light of the projector streamed over head, and he turned and smiled at his date – a blonde. A Selwyn, maybe? Or a Rosier? She was so lovely, and so very sweet. She cautiously placed her hand on the armrest between them, and the remembered anxiety of deciding to take her hand in his own welled up under his skin.

The feel of her fingers tightening on his own squeezed at his heart, and he blinked again, turning to look at his brother on the far side of the couch. Rodolphus smiled at him softly, before turning his own attentions forward. Rabastan pressed his hands into fists, feeling the bite of nails against his palms, before releasing them again. Dampness sprung up at the corners of his eyes, and he breathed in deeply again, willing his feelings to come back under control.

It was a new, old memory. One that he'd forgotten, one that he didn't even know he'd buried away from himself. They'd gone to see this movie when they were young, and still relatively free. The burdens he'd carried with him for the past 15 years had been far away in that moment, and the privilege of a life wide open before him still within his grasp. It felt like a dream, like someone else's life, but he could still smell her perfume, feel her hair under his cheek, remembered that her lips tasted like peppermint and cherries.

He stood abruptly, and turned, blindly leaving the room. Such innocence was as foreign to him as his own home was now. As he hurried towards the stairs, he couldn't help but notice all the people around him. So many faces, so many people, so much entitlement to things that were never, could never be theirs.

"Rabastan!"

He froze, cringing at the top of the stairwell. He glanced over his shoulder at the voice, curly haired menace indeed, "What?"

He felt her approach from behind, "Are you alright?"

Her voice was kind, and part of him resented her for it, "I'm fine"

He could feel her hesitate, "Roddy suggested the movie. He told me you two saw it together when it came out. Thought it might help..."

He nodded curtly, continuing to walk down the hall towards his room, "He was right. We did see it together"

A hand came to rest on his left wrist and he stopped once more, looking down at it, "I didn't mean to upset you"

He settled an apathetic expression on his face before he looked her in the eye, her own warm gaze filled with sympathy, "I assure you, Granger, you didn't"

She pursed her lips at him, and he felt her pull back emotionally, leaving him with a strange, hollow feeling in his chest. As she let him go, his fingers twitched as if desperate to grab her, hold onto that small reminder of affection. Contrition flooded him, unexpectedly, and he opened his mouth to say anything that might take back the words he'd just bit out at her.

"Hermione!"

She winced and looked over Rabastan's shoulder, chagrin coloring her features. His own lips pressed into a thin line as he turned to see their interloper. Of course. The blonde Gorilla. Pucey had a practiced smile on his lips, and Rabastan could hear Granger muttering curses under her breath as he approached them.

"Adrian," came the controlled greeting, and he could swear he could feel the temperature drop around them. Apparently, Gorillas were impervious to such fluctuations, however, because he continued his approach. Unconsciously, Rabastan found himself stepping to the side, keeping himself between Pucey and Granger. There was a small flicker in the blonde's carefully created countenance before he turned to Rabastan.

"I'm not sure we've met. Adrian Pucey," he acknowledged, extending out his hand. Rabastan glanced down at it, looking the younger man in the face before adopting his own vaguely pleasant veneer and shaking his hand, perhaps a bit stronger than necessary. He was pleased at the small wince around the edges of his eyes, before he dropped it.

"Rabastan Lestrange," he drawled, "I'd say nice to meet you, but quite frankly I find my home to be a bit overcrowded tonight"

He heard Granger snort a bit behind him, and his shoulders squared a little straighter. Pucey flexed the fingers on his right hand and nodded, "Yes, it does get quite busy around here. I had almost forgotten how many people there are"

"Ah, that's right. Potter mentioned you'd been away on business," came Rabastan's bored response, "Do tell. What exactly is it that you do?"

"I'm a solicitor. Criminal defense, mostly, but sometimes I do work on International or Military law cases as well. Spent some time in Morocco with a client," he replied, words heavy with self-importance.

"I see. A true renaissance man," Rabastan intoned, and this time he was sure Granger laughed before covering it up with a cough.

"Yes, well, it's a tough job, but someone has to do it," he answered, taking a step to his right. Rabastan moved with him, before turning his head towards Granger again.

"I think I can hear Roddy calling for you, Granger"

She cleared her throat, nodding, "I hear him, too. I'd best go see what's going on"

Rabastan stepped to the side once more, blocking Pucey's path from following Granger, "So, what brings you here tonight, Adrian?"

The blonde's pleasant demeanor dissipated as soon as Granger's head could no longer be seen, and he favored Rabastan with a scowl, "I was trying to catch up with my old girlfriend"

"Oh. Did I interfere?" he asked, "I'm so terribly sorry"

"Yes, well..." Pucey made a gesture with his hands before moving to walk down the stairs. As Rabastan blocked his exit once more he gave an exaggerated huffing sound. A dark head of hair appeared at the other end of the hall, and Rabastan smiled more genuinely, beckoning the newcomer to join.

"You know what I was doing tonight? I was having a delightful time, catching up with friends," he said, "Haven't seen some of them for the better part of five years"

"That sounds...lovely?" came Pucey's reply, tone suddenly uncertain.

"It was," came Antonin's response, and the blonde visibly jumped at his baritone.

"We were having the most interesting conversation about what we did during the war," Rabastan continued, shifting so that the younger man was positioned between the two former Death Eaters and the wall. He paused, dramatically, favoring Pucey with a thoughtful look, "What side were you on during the war?"

It turned out, the primate did appear to have a small amount of self preservation left, because he began to look for an exit, "I was, ah, out of the country. Neutral"

Rabastan gave an exaggerated frown, "Neutral? Hm. I hardly feel as if neutrality was an option"

"Agreed. Especially if you had any interest in Miss Granger," rumbled Antonin, and a small sweat glistened on Pucey's forehead.

"Well, perhaps neutrality was the easy way out," continued Rabastan, "Antonin here, and I, were tasked with information retrieval"

"Information retrieval?" repeated Pucey, trying to slide sideways along the wall to get away.

"Yes," confirmed Antonin, "The Dark Lord requested information, we got it"

"By whatever means necessary," verified Rabastan, stepping closer to the blonde, "Personally, I preferred magic. But Antonin," Rabastan grinned wickedly, "He preferred to use his hands. Or his blade. And he was very, very good at getting people to talk. Or getting them to stop talking."

Pucey swallowed harshly, eyes darting between the two men.

Rabastan leaned forward, placing his hand on the wall next to Pucey, "I suggest, Mr. Pucey, you consider this carefully before you continue your pursuits. I have had my wand restored, and Antonin doesn't need permission to touch a knife"

Rabastan smiled cruelly as the color fled from Pucey's face, and he pushed himself off the wall just as Antonin stepped forwards. The primate darted off down the stairs without any further prompting, glancing over his shoulder only once to see two dark countenances watching him go.

Antonin chuckled next to him, "Just like old times, eh?"

Rabastan felt a grin crack his lips, his confidence restoring, "Maybe even a little better"


	15. Chapter 15

_**You guys. For real, I love how you all responded to the last chapter. I'd posted it right before I ran into work where I was supposed to do a short procedure that turned into a long procedure. Coming back to all your enthusiasm was amazing, and just made my entire day. I just hope I can keep making you happy! Also - totally forgot to do this in my first posted version of this chapter. My allusion to Alecto Carrow is as was characterized by Canimal in her The Dark Mage's Captive and Silver Mage's Captive (seriously, read them). It is not cannon, and was tossed in as a small nod to her awesomeness.  
**_

The water was cold. No, not just cold. Freezing. The water was officially freezing. And it didn't matter which knob he turned or what he did with his wand, it continued to pour out of the faucet freezing cold. A fact which left him scowling fiercely at his shower as if it had betrayed him personally.

Pulling his pants back on, he turned off the nozzle and stomped out of the bathroom. As Granger had pointed out only a few days ago, the water was enchanted to stay hot in the house, so the fact that his was suddenly cold could only point to shoddy spellwork. Or piss poor casting ability. Neither of which was his fault, and either of which was seriously interfering with his morning. Tossing on a robe, he stalked down the hall to pound on the master bedroom door.

Silence met him, and he growled under his breath before beating on it harder. The master suite was huge, so he was gratified to hear the sound of footsteps approaching the door from the other side. Before his fist could touch the door a third time, it swung open and he stopped abruptly, hand still in midair. A tall, black man with light blue eyes, swathed only in navy boxers regarded him imperiously.

"Yes?"

Rabastan recoiled slightly, before adopting his own sneer, "Is Granger in there?"

"She's currently sleeping," was the reply, "As was I, until your impression of a battering ram"

"I need her," he grumbled back, allowing his annoyance to color his words. The darker man quirked his lips.

"That seems to be a common problem around this place," he answered before sighing, glancing back over his shoulder into the room, "Look, if I'm going to risk my life by waking her up it better be for a good reason"

"The plumbing is having some issues," answered Rabastan shortly. The other man sighed again and nodded, before turning to go back into the suite.

"Give me a few minutes. If she's not there in a half hour, send a search party for my body," he responded drolly. Rabastan snorted, and the door was shut in his face.

He muttered under his breath as he strode back to his own room, digging into his wardrobe for an outfit for the day. Ten minutes later his musings over which shirt to wear were interrupted by someone stomping into his room.

"What is it, Rabastan?" demanded Granger's sleep roughened voice. He leaned around the door to his closet and snorted at her. Black robe wrapped around her petite frame, curly hair sticking in every direction, and last night's mascara rimming her lower lids, she looked every bit the mess she sounded. His lips curved into an amused smirk as he let his gaze travel over her, ending on her now narrowed eyes.

He cleared his throat briefly, before gesturing to the bathroom, "The plumbing is having an issue. I can't get hot water"

She glowered darkly at him, "Are you kidding me? This better not be a damn joke"

He frowned back at her, "Why the hell would I lie about that?"

She shook her head at him, turning to cross his room and enter the lavatory, "Because you have a death wish? I'll tell you what I told Antonin, the water is enchanted to stay warm. There is no way for it to be cold unless you want it to"

"Of course it is. But shoddy wand work can muck all that up," he retorted. Hermione paused, pressing her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose.

"Because I'm grateful for your intervention with Adrian last night, I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," came her irritated reply, "But don't mistake my amnesty for weakness. I will not hesitate to set you on fire and hang you out the window as a warning to others if you keep annoying me"

Rabastan felt his eyebrows raise on their own accord. It was one thing to hear the stories, but another to experience Granger's short temper up close and personal. He wasn't sure if he was more surprised that she didn't mince her words, or that she actually sounded serious about her threat. And given the respect she commanded from almost everyone else while in this state, he suddenly had the rather shocking awareness that she had likely done something to make people believe she might actually follow through with her threats.

Following her to the shower, he leaned behind her as she reached in and turned the faucet to on. Running her hand under the tap, her expression shifted from thoughtful to irritated as steam began to form around them. Her eyes swung up to meet his, accusation in her gaze, "Looks like it's working just fine, Bast"

He scowled at her again, "Well, it wasn't before"

She pursed her lips, stifling an eyeroll poorly before turning to leave once more, "Of course it wasn't. It just magically stopped working, and started working again as soon as I touched it"

He didn't get the chance to respond before she removed herself from his rooms, followed by the sound of the master suite slamming shut a few moments later. Sighing, Rabastan stepped into the shower, annoyed that he'd had to call her and even more annoyed that the problem made him look like a fool.

Warm water cascading over his shoulders, he took in a deep breath, allowing the tension to ease again from his shoulders. After they'd confronted Pucey, Rabastan had followed Antonin back to the ballroom and rejoined his brother to finish watching the movie. He'd been surprised that he remembered bits and pieces of dialogue and plot, and a small flicker of hope ignited that perhaps he wasn't so far divided as he thought.

The manor had become more sparsely populated after the show, and the crowd had thinned down further as the night wore on. Several more drinks later, and Rabastan had excused himself to his own rooms, where he'd promptly passed out and slept a blissfully uninterrupted slumber until this morning.

Finishing his ablutions, he donned his clothes and headed down to the kitchen for breakfast. The crowd was smaller than a normal day, but larger than the previous morning. The table had been cleared of all the dishes from the previous night, with a pile of earthenware stacked at the far end. In the center of the table was a white platter, covered in blue vials of hangover up potion. He chuckled, grabbing one for himself, before settling down in his seat.

Rodolphus entered shortly after him, groaning as he dropped down into his own spot and placing his forehead on the table. Without a word, Rabastan passed him a vial of his own. Roddy favored him with a weak smile before pulling a face as he tipped it down his own throat.

"You would think, with the ability to turn a table into a housecat, and create a potion that actually makes you into a different person, we'd be able to brew these to actually taste decent," Roddy shuddered. Rabastan wrinkled his nose and nodded.

"Though, I feel like the hangover up potion is meant to taste like half rotted fish so you never want to drink it again"

Thorfinn joined them then, fisting and gulping down his own potion, before shaking his head sharply, "That never gets any easier"

Rabastan eyed him for a moment, taking in the purple mark on his neck, "And how was your evening?"

Thorfinn grinned, though his cheeks flushed a bit, and he winked back at the younger brother, "Exhausting. And bendy"

Rodolphus laughed, slapping the bigger man on his back, "Yes, that one is quite flexible"

Rabastan furrowed his brow, "I take it you've sampled the goods as well?"

Rodolphus shrugged, mild embarrassment showing before he answered, "I mean, I'm still human. If they're going to offer, I'm not always going to say no"

Rabastan rubbed his jaw, "I don't suppose any of them write you letters?"

Rodolphus grimaced and Thorfinn wrinkled his nose, "No, the women who write crazy letters aren't allowed into the house"

"For your own safety," came Granger's voice, and Rodolphus tipped back, looking up at her as she entered the room. She looked surprisingly put together considering her appearance earlier, hair now pinned down neatly into a braid on the back of her head, face freshly scrubbed, and clothed for work.

"You know, the way you worry you'd think I didn't spend twenty years of my life scaring people into complacency," he retorted. Granger smirked, ruffling his hair.

"Yes, I know. You were so big, and so terrifying, and no one would ever think about crossing you"

Rodolphus huffed in mock irritation, and Granger laughed at him, "I am a fully grown wizard"

"Yes, but you don't have a wand, Roddy. And I know you don't want some stage 5 clinger getting in here when you can't stun her and run away," came the softer response. Rodolphus sighed and nodded.

"I know," he replied, leaning back forward, "I don't mind the restrictions, I just hate being cared for like a child sometimes"

"Yes, well, next time you consider genocide as a coping mechanism, remember this, yeah?" she answered glibly before grabbing her own vial of hangover potion.

"What's a stage 5 clinger?" asked Rabastan. Rodolphus laughed and Granger choked on her potion, gagging as it went down.

"Remember Alecto's thing for Antonin?" asked Rodolphus. Rabastan cringed and nodded, "Like that, only more intense"

"Enough said"

Granger snorted, "Alecto Carrow had a thing for Antonin?"

"Alecto had all the things for Antonin. He found her naked in his bed a few times, and she would show up almost anywhere he was. I wouldn't be surprised if friendly fire did her in during the final battle," confirmed Rodolphus. Granger shook her head.

"That's...I want to say sad, but given that she helped torture children at Hogwarts I'm torn as to how exactly I feel"

"I mean, unrequited feelings are a bitch," chimed in Thorfinn, eyeing Granger closely, "But don't ever feel bad for Aly. She was almost as evil as Bellatrix, and a touch crazier"

"Crazier? Where the hell did Voldemort dig you people up?" she replied, wrinkling her nose.

"Mostly from the sacred 28" rumbled Antonin's voice as he entered the room. Granger looked over her shoulder at him and they shared a faint, cryptic smile as she rested her arms on the back of Rodolphus's chair.

"I would say that just proves my theory about inbreeding, but it wouldn't explain you," she shot back and Rabastan raised his eyebrows. Not that Antonin's activities during the war, and even before, were terribly secret, but eluding to his sordid past seemed a bit bold even for the Gryffindor.

Antonin shrugged, "My family comes from what is considered pureblood lineage in Russia"

"See? Screw your cousins, lose a few screws in your head" pronounced Granger, and the men laughed.

"Of course, none of that accounts for you, Granger," pointed out Rabastan. She cocked her head to the side and smirked at him.

"Oh no. Putting up with you lot since I was 11 accounts for me," she pronounced, grabbing Roddy's shoulder softly as she did. He chuckled at her, reaching up to squeeze her hand briefly with his own,"Well, you all and Harry and Ron. Those two started me going round the bend first. It wasn't that hard to finish off the job"

Thorfinn wrinkled his own nose, "Don't throw us in with those two"

Granger reached over and slapped him on the back of his head, "Be nice. They've agreed to babysit you this weekend"

Roddy made a noise of protest, "What?!"

Granger sighed, "I need to get away for a few days. I'm going to stay in London for the weekend"

Antonin growled next to her and she glared back at him, "Don't you get all medved on me. I am just as entitled to some time away as anyone else"

Rodolphus frowned, "Everything alright?"

Granger sighed before shooting a not so subtle look towards Rabastan. He frowned, brows furrowing as she looked back at Roddy, fingers reflexively running along the top of her braid, "It's just been a transition. I think we could all use a little break"

Before they could reply, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to Rodolphus's temple, leaving the room with Antonin trailing behind her, clearly protesting her respite in Russian. Roddy frowned then as well, glaring at Rabastan, "What the hell did you do?"

Rabastan's eyebrows lifted, "What do you mean what did I do?"

"Clearly, she's not comfortable with you here in the house. What, exactly, did you do to make Hermione uncomfortable?"

"I didn't do anything! In fact, I stepped in between her and Pucey last night! Ask Antonin"

Rodolphus pursed his lips, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair, "Hermione doesn't just run away. Obviously, something happened. I suggest fixing it"

Rabastan scowled before he stood, "I don't need this from you. This is my house too, you know"

He tried to ignore the voice that called after him as he stalked out of the room, "No it isn't"

Rabastan stalked through the house to track down Granger, scowling in irritation as he discovered she'd already left. Shaking his head, he caught sight of Antonin leaning out of the study, dark look on his face as he glared at the younger brother.

"Not you too," he sniped at the russian, shoving past him as he entered the room.

"Hermione never leaves the house. Ever. What else should I think?" he demanded. Rabastan sucked in a breath, throwing himself down on the couch.

"I don't know, maybe she's throwing a snit because someone around here can actually use their magic and might actually be stronger than her for once?" he bit back. Antonin laughed in return, a full laugh that shook his shoulders, leaving him with an unsettled feeling.

"I assure you, that is not the case," came the reply from the doorway, Rodolphus peeking into the room. Rabastan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Do tell, how am I wrong this time?"

"Thorfinn and I have had our magic restricted, but you'll notice," he lifted his wrist, "No magical dampener. We are expected to control ourselves, and have some tracking spells on board, but nothing to actually stop us from killing anyone should we so choose to do so"

Rabastan raised his eyebrows, "So, you could literally Avada the witch and be done with it?"

Antonin nodded affirmatively, playing with the silver chain on his own arm, "They could"

The younger brother laughed then, a hollow sound, "So, why haven't you?"

Rodolphus rolled his eyes, "Where, exactly, do you think we'd go if we killed Hermione?"

Rabastan raised an eyebrow, "I'd assume back to Azkaban"

Rodolphus nodded, "You'd be correct. Tell me, Bast, you've been out for a whole week. You've had good food, a warm bed, pleasant company. Would you really risk going back there again for anything?"

The cold twist deep in his gut gave him his answer. Regardless of how he felt about the muggleborn, the idea of returning to a 10 by 10 cell, with a slit for a window, worn straw mattress for a bed, and cold gruel for food was out of the question. The realization that he would do almost anything to stay out, caused his mood to sober sharply. Rodolphus gave him a knowing look, but didn't say anything more as he stood and swept back out of the room.


	16. Chapter 16

The water was freezing coming out of the tap again the next morning, and he snarled in frustration. Without Granger present, he was at a loss as to whom he needed to turn to to resolve the issue. He knew Potter and Ron were somewhere in the house, but doubted they would have the wherewithal to fix whatever she had mucked up. Irritated and uncertain, he banged on the next door he could think of. After a long pause, Rodolphus opened it, blinking blearily at his brother.

"You alright, Bast?" he asked. Rabastan sighed and shook his head.

"I'm having a plumbing issue. Any chance you can come look at it? "

Rodolphus raised an eyebrow, but nodded in return, grabbing a robe to toss on as he followed his brother back to his room. Entering the lavatory, Rabastan reached into the shower, and flipped the knobs to on. Cold water poured out, and continued to well after the time when it should have begun to warm up. Rodolphus frowned before reaching over to fiddle with them as well. After a few twists, steam began to fill up the room. Rabastan grumbled as his brother smiled at him.

"Just needed to get it in the right spot," he replied, patting him on the shoulder. Rabastan muttered his thanks, attempting to ignore his feelings of inadequacy as he stepped into the shower.

Breakfast was a muted affair that morning, quieter without either Hermione or Antonin present. It seemed much of the draw of the manor was the presence of the curly haired owner herself, which meant morning crowds were significantly smaller. Rabastan picked at his food, feeling off balance with the sudden change in routine once more.

"Hey, want to go for a fly?" asked Ron, sitting across from him at the table. Rabastan raised his eyebrows at the redhead, tilting his head to the side.

"Is it safe?" he asked. Ron chuckled and nodded.

"There's a spell we can use to look at the ward boundaries. But, really, you could come to my place and we'd have no restrictions"

Rabastan frowned thoughtfully, considering the offer, "I don't have a broom"

Ron waved his hand dismissively, "I have a few extra. Plus, Marcus should be joining us"

Rabastan smiled a little at the thought, "You two are friends?"

"I'm not sure about friends. Cordial, yes. Friendly terms, yes. On a regular schedule to scare him because he's dating my sister? Also yes"

Rabastan laughed, "Are you using me as a buffer?"

Ron shrugged, blue eyes sparkling a bit, "Maybe. But I suspect you could use to get out of this place, anyhow"

Rabastan leaned back, thinking for a moment before he nodded, "Alright"

Following Ron through the floo after breakfast, he was surprised to find himself stepping out into a large, airy home. It was an open floor plan with the living room connected to a dining area, half wall separating it from the kitchen. To his right was a hallway with a handful of doors, and to his left was an ornate staircase. The room was decorated with pale yellows and creams, and light woods to give it an even more relaxed feeling.

Ron beckoned him to follow down the hallway, and they paused in a large foyer, the red head grabbing two brooms from a closet, before they exited the building. From the outside, the home was impressive, though not ostentatiously so, with two stories and a wooden cabin appearance. And while the house itself was charming, it turned out the surrounding land was the real allure of the property. Sprawling out behind the residence was a large field, bordered by trees and what appeared to be a small quidditch pitch on the far side of the estate.

"Bought it after the war with the money we were awarded. Greg insisted, actually, said it was the least he could do for letting his family stay in their home," chimed in Ron as he nodded back at the house, throwing a wink over his shoulder, "And I'm not too proud to take advantage of that offer"

"And what of the Goyles? How do they stand currently?" questioned Rabastan. Ron sighed a little as he handed over one of the brooms.

"I've set aside a trust fund for Greg and his younger sister, and Hermione paid for all of her supplies for the year. The laws were set up so that we can't gift any money to the original owners, and we can only set aside so much, so we have to find the loopholes that we can to make it work. The trust funds are controlled by me, but I pretty much turn a blind eye unless big withdrawls are made," the younger man sighed and rubbed the back of his head with his hand, "Its still hard to get over old habits, you know?"

"Habits?"

"Expecting the worst. Believing that any move made means someone is going to...Well, start a war," came his candid response. Rabastan frowned, but nodded in return.

"I can relate," he replied shortly. Ron favored him with an amused look.

"I believe it," he opened his mouth as if to continue, but the presence of the tall man at the far side of the pitch interrupted them. Ron jerked his head in his direction, "Apparition point. In case you ever need a break"

Marcus strode over to them, holding out his hand to shake Rabastan's, before turning to Ron "Lestrange, Weasley"

Ron favored the taller man with a calculating look, "You're late"

Marcus rolled his eyes, "Yes, I am. Your sister was distracting me. Would you like me to tell you how?"

Ron blanched and shook his head, and Rabastan laughed in return, "So far as I'm concerned, she's still as pure as the day she was born"

Rabastan snorted at that, taking a step towards Marcus at the withering look the redhead sent his way, "I mean, absolutely. Ginny has been nothing but the proper lady since I've met her"

Ron laughed, "OK, you don't need to lie outright. Deceit by omission is acceptable"

"So where to, this morning?" asked Marcus, getting his broom set up. Ron shrugged in return.

"The lake and back?" he answered, handing one of his brooms over to Rabastan. The younger brother looked down at the handle, raising his eyebrows at the stamp of "Nimbus 4000".

"This is a nice broom"

Ron looked a little embarrassed, "I thought about going into professional Quidditch for about 3 seconds before deciding to become an Auror. Ever since then, every broom company in Britain sends me a prototype once a year in exchange for a picture of me flying on it"

Rabastan snorted, "And you don't say no"

Ron shrugged, "I told you. I'm not a proud man"

The three men kicked off the ground, floating a lazy circle above the property before setting out across the grounds towards a lake he could barely make out in the distance. It was warm, the drone of insects heavy in the air as they floated above ground. Rabastan took in a breath, letting it out slowly, feeling residual anxiety loose itself from his chest.

As he looked at the azure sky before him, and the vast landscape below him, he felt himself becoming undone. It had been years, well over a decade since he'd indulged in riding a broom, and he wondered now why it had taken him so long to get back on one. To seek the liberty of just being. The open air around him promised freedom – freedom from bars, freedom from overcrowded homes, freedom from his personal demons. It expanded his lungs with hope, hinting at expectation long put away that the future might be more than just dark walls and stolen dreams.

Once upon a time, he'd had dreams. He'd believed that he would be Important. The specifics of how hadn't ever actually been clear, though he'd always pretended he had a plan. A purpose. A direction. His father had impressed upon him repeatedly that Lestranges always had a strategy for becoming the best, and he would become the best at whatever he chose. Rabastan, however, had never been one to stick with one objective for long, his own hunger for knowledge and influence never properly tempered by self discipline. He'd flitted from profession to profession, considering becoming a healer perhaps, or a business owner, or even an auror at one point. All the possibilities and none of the burden of having to choose, having to decide on a set path, having to worry about whether or not you could survive if you didn't make that choice. He wondered now if perhaps that exemption to necessity was why he'd fallen in with the Dark Lord. All the luxury of time to make decisions, none of the risk for not making them.

Those who had become Death Eaters predominantly came from old families, and had money. And most, like himself, were several generations removed from the difficulties of obtaining that money. Rodolphus was not wrong when he'd pointed out they couldn't spend it all in one lifetime even if they tried. They probably wouldn't even make a dent in what was lying in their vaults if they went out of their way to try and spend as much as possibly. And that security, that infallibility, that erudition allowed them to become lazy in their pursuits and philosophical in their beliefs, and detached from a contingent of society they neither understood nor cared to interact with. It was the greatest form of snobbery, and it was the principle of their downfall.

As he glanced over at Marcus, he noted the faded scar on the younger man's arm, a strange sense of penitence curling around his heart. How much of their own youthful ignorance had they foisted on the generations behind them? Did Marcus believe in blood purity as well, or was he expected to carry that mantle because his ancestors before him did? The burly man caught his gaze and followed it's direction, scowling briefly at where it landed. He leaned forward on his own broom, shooting forward and ahead of Ron who shouted and darted off behind them.

Rabastan grinned at the chase, allowing the melancholy to escape his mood a moment, and took off behind the other two men. They flew, each passing each other in turn, besting each other one at a time until they found themselves circuiting a large lake, spiraling high up into the sky until the heat drove them back down to the ground.

Ron landed first, laughing as he stepped lithely off his broom and onto the ground. Marcus leapt off his own broom, performing a somersault as he touched down, landing squarely on his feet. Rabastan chose to touch down sedately, unsure that his muscle memory was strong enough to keep him from injuring himself as he set down.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" asked the red head, looking up at the sky. Rabastan nodded thoughtfully, looking up at the blue sky with scant clouds. How long had it been since he'd spent a day like this one outside?

"Better enjoy it while we can," answered Marcus, "Fall will be here before we know it"

Rabastan grunted, grimacing at the memory of his most recent foray into Diagon Alley, "Yes, I hadn't realized what time of year it was when I.." Got out? Was released? Pardoned.? "...got home"

Ron nodded, "Best avoid the busier streets for a few weeks. It's insanity out there. Never realized it until I made the mistake of trying to buy some new robes the week before Hogwarts started. Nearly got run over by a horde of tots"

"Better run over than spit on," grumbled Marcus and Rabastan tilted his head to the side.

"You too?"

"Yup. It doesn't happen as often as it used to, but it's hard to hide this all the time," he answered, gesturing to the scarred mark. Rabastan rubbed his own unconsciously, nodding in return.

"It certainly doesn't help when you've had your name all over the papers, either," he acknowledged and Ron pulled a face.

"I get that, though maybe not for the same reason," he replied, sharing a look with the other two men. Marcus frowned a little, and sighed, looking at the lake around them.

"I know, someday, it won't be so bad. I just hate that Ginny has to endure everything until then, too," he confessed, eyes pointedly looking away from the redhead. Ron nodded, rubbing his chin, before he reached over and patted him on the shoulder.

"So long as you think that way, everything between you and I will be just fine," he responded, before grabbing up his broom again. Rabastan rocked back on his heels, the anxiety that he'd begun to shake loose crawling it's way back up his spine again. Ron glanced over, "Back to the house? Last one there gets to buy the others lunch"

As he entered the Manor later that afternoon with Ron close behind, he became acutely aware of how quiet it was. With Antonin confined to his rooms, and only Rodolphus, Thorfinn and the two Aurors about, the estate suddenly felt enormous, and entirely too devoid of activity. Growing up, the size had never really occurred to him, and the isolation of having such a small family in such a large dwelling was ignored because it was considered normal. But now, knowing what it was like to have life, and laughter in the halls, it almost felt sacrilegious to have it any other way.

As he retired to his rooms for the evening, he tucked the broom he'd been gifted into one of the closets, hand lingering for a moment on the barely worn wood. It wasn't the most expensive gift, or even the nicest gift he'd ever been given, but it meant something. It was given without expectation, without pretense, without anticipation of what could be returned in the future. It was given simply to meet a need, and came tied with the tentative hope for a friendship. An understanding that today isn't perfect, and tomorrow probably won't be either, but perhaps two people can work together to make it better.

That boundless optimism was as foreign to him as the idea of guileless gifts, but for the first time in years he wanted to be open to it. To thrive and grow instead of shrink back into the hollow of fear that had guided his life for so many years. And that little bit of hope scared him more than any threat of torment and death ever had.


	17. Chapter 17

By Monday morning, Rabastan's nerves were drawn tight again. His shower the night before had been freezing, and he loathed having to find someone to fix it, so he'd suffered through. Sunday had been a largely quiet day that had been worsened by cool weather and drizzling clouds, leaving him feeling restless and unable to relieve his irritation. It had dragged at the edges of his temper, leaving him short and snappy, having only been worsened by the sound beating Thorfinn had given him during a sparring session that was supposed to alleviate his boredom.

Granger hadn't shown up for breakfast that morning, though the crowd of visitors had increased substantially, making him believe her presence would be imminent. It seemed that the wheel of gossip was ever turning, and as always, people knew what was going on before it was ever announced. With such close ties between social circles now, that wheel spun ever faster, and word got out before it was ever even in the proverbial bag. As expected, she appeared in late afternoon, giving a cursory greeting before retreating to her own rooms.

Settled into the study, Rabastan scowled at the book he'd been trying to absorb for most of the day. It was a discussion on magic and it's origins, but it was dense and slow paced, making it difficult for him to dig through more than a paragraph at a time without becoming distracted. The current section was discussing the difference in magic types based on geographic location, which should have been engaging, but instead had been twisted into an exercise in tedium. It was maddening to say the very least.

A sudden flurry of activity at the door drew his attention, and his eyebrows lifted at Antonin's arrival. He'd missed the aloof man's company over the last few days – a nice contrast from Rodolphus's easygoing nature and Thorfinn's constant juvenile joviality. At this juncture, however, it appeared that something had thrown the older man off, his expression distressed as he lifted his left hand, small silver chain dangling from his fingers.

"Bast, I need help," he hissed, crossing the room rapidly. The younger brother stood abruptly, trying to take in situation.

"Is that your-?" he started, looking at the bracelet and the russian nodded.

"It's my dampener," he confessed, brown eyes full trained on it as it twisted in the sunlight, "Sometimes if it becomes too full, it will fall off"

Rabastan tilted his head to the side, "So, without this on, you have access to your magic, yes?"

Antonin shifted his weight between his feet, nodding briskly, "Yes. But if I don't have it on, I am in violation of parole. And Hermione..." he stopped shortly, shaking his head, not continuing his thought.

Rabastan stared at the little piece of jewelry for a long moment, noting how it sparkled in the dim light of the study. It wasn't silver as he'd first thought, but platinum, and heavily imbued with spellwork to allow it to absorb the magic contained by the wearer. Magic, like most bodily functions, tended to ebb and flow over time, and while there was always an underlying potency to a person's abilities, the amount of magic available to call from may vary from day to day and week to week. It was why dampeners were sometimes unreliable – if they were unable to harness and house the amount of magic produced, they became impotent and useless on the wearer. And while most had a set schedule to be replaced, that schedule could be varied depending on the strength of the wearer as well.

"You know," came a voice from the door, "I had an idea for a new Charms spell this weekend, and I wanted to get your thoughts, Antonin"

Rabastan saw Antonin's face turn white, and he peered over the man's shoulder to see the curly haired witch enter, face buried in a book. She walked across the room towards them, oblivious to the current predicament, pausing once she'd drawn even with them. Getting no answer to her inquiry, she cocked her head to the side and lifted it, regarding the two men with cautious curiosity.

"Hermione," rumbled Antonin, hands still lifted as he turned towards her.

Rabastan could pinpoint the exact moment she realized what was going on, face blanching, book dropping to the floor, wand pointed at the Russian's jaw. He watch Antonin swallow harshly, and could see the small shift in his features. Granger's eyes darted between the two of them and the bracelet, taking two steps back towards the door, not turning away from them.

"Welcome home, Hermione!" came a cheerful voice from the doorway, Rodolphus choosing just that moment to enter. Antonin winced, his shoulders lifting defensively at the newcomer. It took Rodolphus only a moment to decipher the situation, his own countenance becoming grave, "It's alright, Hermione"

She shook her head tightly, wand still pointed at Antonin, mouth opening and closing a few times. Rodolphus lifted his own hands, attempting to insinuate himself into her line of sight from the side, but she remained frozen in place.

"Hermione, it just fell off a few minutes ago," came Antonin's graveled voice, tone placating. Her eyes darted back to the silver chain, and then back to the Russian's face, as if attempting to divine the truth out of him.

"Rodolphus," she breathed, "Who...Who is here this evening?"

"Harry hasn't left yet," he supplied, "And Dean is supposed to arrive shortly. Would you like me to get one of them?"

She nodded tightly, hair bobbing around her face, and the older brother slipped out of the room quickly. Rabastan stepped out from behind Antonin, tilting his own head to regard her more closely, "You ok, Granger?"

Her eyes flashed to him and then back to Antonin, answering mechanically, "He can't be without his dampener on"

"I know that, but he's obviously not trying to do anything. Why don't you lower your wand?" he attempted soothingly. She shook her head, a single, sharp negative.

"No. He has to have his dampener on," she answered, a small waver in her voice. Ahead of him Antonin nodded.

"It's ok, solnishka," he replied, "I understand"

Rabastan noted her shoulders slump even as she took a sharp breath in, tone harsh as she bit out, "Don't do that. No pet names"

Antonin nodded again, falling quiet once more. The silence stretched out before them, Granger's expression twisting from shock to anger before settling on regret, an emotion Rabastan was surprised to see her show given the situation. When Harry rushed into the room, he placed a hand on her shoulder, and she shuddered, sucking in a harsh gasp as she lowered her wand. The dark haired man turned her wordlessly and pushed her gently out the door, closing it behind them.

Looking up at the Russian, his own countenance settled on concerned, "Are you alright?"

Antonin nodded, dropping his hands to his sides before reaching out towards the younger man, "I am fine. She was scared"

Harry nodded in acceptance, turning his left palm up to accept the small chain, "As she likely always will be"

Antonin's own expression was one of anguished remorse, "I know"

Rabastan crossed his own arms across his chest, "Does this happen often?"

Harry looked up at the younger brother, skepticism clear behind green eyes, but he shook his head in the negative, "Rarely. It's happened a few times, but usually Antonin can find someone else before Hermione"

"She's that afraid of him?" he asked incredulously, and both men nodded in the affirmative.

"Antonin and Hermione have a rocky history," replied Harry hesitantly, the Russian snorting derisively at the description.

"I tried to kill her twice," answered Antonin, Harry giving him a little half smile.

"The first time he almost succeeded. Hermione spent a month in the hospital, and the better part of a year after that recovering from the damage from the spell," he replied honestly, dropping the bracelet into one pocket and pulling another out of a bag around his wrist, "And let's be real, we all have some PTSD"

"PTSD?" asked Rabastan, wrinkling his nose at the unfamiliar term.

"Post traumatic stress disorder," supplied Antonin.

"You know how sometimes something makes a noise, and suddenly you're terrified because you think that Voldemort is there with you and about to Avada you?" asked Harry, clasping the new bracelet around Antonin's forearm. Rabastan nodded mutely, heart skittering at the thought alone, "It's that. That fear that you haven't left the old world behind, and it's going to come and get you again. That moment when you wake up in a cold sweat because you think you're in a tent in the middle of nowhere, and someone is trying to kidnap or kill you. That creeping anxiety that never really lets go because you're just waiting for the other shoe to drop"

Rabastan cleared his throat uncomfortably, "And Granger has that with Antonin?"

Harry nodded affirmatively, "Probably because he was the only face she ever identified under the masks. And because she knows..." he bit off his sentence sharply, shaking his head.

"She knows what I am capable of," finished Antonin quietly, fingering the chain gently against his skin.

"Yes," sighed Harry, "Exactly. She could face an entire regiment of pissed off goblins, but five seconds alone with Antonin without his dampener and she's a mess"

"That doesn't sound like a stable warden," replied Rabastan, and Harry shrugged.

"Well, the options are Azkaban or a slightly unstable warden in a pretty manor with comfortable beds. Your choice," came his cheeky reply, before he turned to open the door once more. He paused a moment, hand on the knob before he glanced back over at the younger brother, "For what it's worth, that's part of the reason there are two Aurors here at all times. And, for the record, I'm not afraid of any of you"

The dark haired man exited then, and Antonin sank into a chair, pressing his forehead into his hands, shoulders drooping, "This is my life, Rabastan"

A curly head of hair approached the door then, pausing as she glanced at the two men inside, "Can I come in?"

Rabastan glanced down at the older man before him, rubbing his jaw as he watched him turn to her, gesturing her to enter. She stepped towards them haltingly, none of the confidence he'd come to assign her temperament present as she knelt on the ground next to the Russian. Her face was pale, hands shaking as she placed them on his arm.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, just barely loud enough for Rabastan to hear. Antonin's expression cracked, and he covered her hands with one of his own.

"No. Never. Never apologize for that," he whispered back, his tone one Rabastan had never heard from him before.

Granger shook her head, "I wish it could be different"

He patted her hand softly, "Me too"

She sneaked a look up at Rabastan before rising and leaving the room once more. Rabastan returned his thoughtful gaze to the russian.

"You care for her," he started, and Antonin nodded.

"Yes"

"Do you love her?" he asked. The bigger man shrugged.

"I don't know that I can love"

"But if you could..."

"Then, yes. She would be the closest I've been to love," he responded, voice hollow. Rabastan snorted, shaking his head.

"This house. You people," he sighed.

"Just wait your turn," answered Antonin, the hardness that always lived behind his eyes creeping back in, "You'll see"

"You'll be the first to know when it does," he scoffed back, picking his now discarded book up off the chair behind him. Antonin nodded knowingly, before standing and retreating from the room himself.

Rabastan shot up out of sleep, panting, unsure if the scream that had awoken him had been his own. His dreams had been full of dark, freezing shadows, and the sounds of boots marching as if they were passing his cell over and over again. Shivering, he pulled a blanket up around his shoulders, trying to chase the chill away.

A haunted howl tore through his room again, and he jumped out of bed, throwing the door to his suite open. Looking into the hall he could see Rodolphus and Thorfinn outside the master suite, pounding on the door, "Wake up, Hermione!"

Rabastan blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes as he pulled together his thoughts. The scream hadn't been his own, it had been hers, and it was loud enough to wake the entire manor. As another shriek pierced the halls, a head of black, messy hair rushed by him and past the two men into the suite. There was the sound of muffled crying, before the noises subsided.

A shuffling sound drew his attention, and he turned to find himself caught in the dark gaze of Antonin. The Russian's face was shadowed, and appeared gaunt in the evening light, eyes darkly lined.

"You hear that?" he asked Rabastan, who nodded mutely, "That is what I do to her. That is what she thinks of me when I'm whole"

There was a sharp twinge in his gut of grief for his friend, before the other man retreated back into his room, shutting the door firmly. Glancing back up the hall, he watched as Potter exited the master suite, sharing muffled words with the other two men as he closed the door behind him. Rabastan sighed, running a hand through his hair before he returned to his own rooms. Laying back into his bed, the conversation from earlier in the day rolled around in his thoughts and he huffed in irritation, knowing sleep would be unlikely to return anytime soon.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Can I let you all in on a little secret? When I started writing this story, I was really torn about the pairing. In fact, I was *thisclose* to making it Hermione/Antonin. I ended up deciding on Rabastan, but obviously Antonin holds an interesting and dear space in my heart :) And I'm glad that he does in yours as well! I'm so glad you all enjoyed the last chapter, and I loved reading your responses! Thanks for continuing to join me on this journey!**_

Rabastan didn't give Thorfinn a chance to answer his door before he invaded his room. Towel over his left arm, he stomped angrily across the bedroom to the attached bathroom, ignoring the taller man's noise of protest from the bed. Flipping on the knobs, he placed his hand under the water, waiting for it to warm up. There was a clatter behind him, and he glared over his shoulder at the blonde trying to pull up a pair of sweatpants as he entered the room behind him.

"Good morning, Rabastan. Of course you can use my bathroom WITHOUT ASKING," came the sarcastic greeting. Rabastan narrowed his eyes at Thorfinn, sneering in response.

"The fucking water in my fucking room is fucking freezing and no one seems to know how to fucking fix it," he snarled back, hand still under the spout. Thorfinn raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall.

"Really? Only in your room, huh?" he asked. Rabastan yanked his hand out from under the spigot, staring down as if it had personally offended him.

"And apparently YOURS as well," he snapped back. Thorfinn pushed himself off the wall, walking over the shower, putting his own hand in the stream of water. Almost immediately steam began to rise, causing him to turn an thoughtful look at the brunette.

"Nope, looks like it's still only your room," he taunted back. With a wordless cry, Rabasan threw his towel in the air, cursing prolifically as it slowly drifted back down to the floor. Thorfinn covered his mouth with one hand, attempting to hide a smirk as he asked, "How long has this been going on again?"

"Since Friday," growled back Rabastan. Thorfinn's eyebrows drew down, and he dropped his hand.

"Since Friday? You mean the day that Hermione went out of town?" he confirmed. Rabastan rolled his eyes.

"Yes. Friday. Four days ago. Four days of fucking freezing water," he answered sharply.

"Uh huh. Tell me, Rabastan. Did you ever apologize to her?"

Rabastan froze, mouth open in shock, "Apologize?"

Thorfinn nodded, smirk spreading into a grin, "Yes. For whatever you did that pissed her off last week"

The brunette scowled, "I didn't do anything that required an apology"

"Hmmm," answered Thorfinn, "Has anyone else been having this problem?"

Rabastan shook his head in the negative, a glimmer of understanding starting to flicker in his head, "You really think..."

Thorfinn laughed then, patting him on the shoulder, "I really think you need to apologize"

"But, that's ridiculous!" he protested. Thorfinn shrugged.

"Maybe you think so, but clearly you pissed Hermione off. Is a little bit of pride worth cold showers for the rest of your life?" he queried. Rabastan scowled again and Thorfinn chuckled, turning to leave the room, "You can use my bathroom, but I suggest you talk with her before tomorrow"

Rabastan's irritation warred with his respect for the underhandedness of such a simple way to enact revenge. It hadn't even begun to occur to him that the witch may have been behind his discomfort, and her decision to play the straight man the first day had completely thrown him off her trail. Her subsequent choice to leave that evening had kept her off his radar, and allowed him the full experience as it were.

Making his way down towards the kitchen, he considered his next course of action. The easy way out would be to apologize to the witch for whatever had set her off in the first place, and have her reverse the spell. But Rabastan never really was one for the easy way out, and he wasn't so sure he actually had to apologize for anything in the first place. All he'd done was open the door to the office. It wasn't like he'd invited dementors in to invade the place. Snorting, he grabbed a plate and some breakfast, settling into his seat. No, this time, he wasn't going to apologize. He could figure out the reversal on his own.

Antonin eyed him curiously from across the table, dark circles under his eyes as he chewed a piece of bacon, "What has you worked up already?"

"I figured out what's been going on with the plumbing," he grumbled back, and Antonin raised an eyebrow at him.

"You know, when I complained about it being cold, I was just trying to annoy her," he clarified. Rabastan rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Be that as it may, the water was cold this weekend," he griped back.

"Throughout the house?"

"Yes. But only for me," he mumbled back. Antonin paused before leaning back in his chair and laughing.

"What did you do to make her mad?" he asked between chuckles.

Rabastan sighed and speared a sausage link before lifting it in the air in front of his face, "I didn't do anything"

The Russian snorted, "Clearly"

Rabastan scowled at him as well, "Why is everyone so convinced that I did something wrong?"

"Well, you did just spend four days taking cold showers," supplied Thorfinn as he joined them, plate mounded full of food. Antonin and Rabastan favored him with a disgusted look as he began shoveling eggs into his mouth.

"Only one," sighed Rabastan.

"Only one what?" came Granger's voice from behind him. He schooled his expression to be controlled as he looked up at her.

"One cold shower," he replied curtly. She raised both her own eyebrows, the only sign that she knew what was going on was the faintest hint of a smirk around her lips.

"Oh, bollocks. You could have owled me," she replied guilelessly, before grabbing her own plate of food. Rabastan dropped his fork on the table, right hand becoming a fist.

"I didn't want to interrupt your sabbatical," he replied, a hint of sarcasm coloring his tone.

She returned, dropping into the seat next to him, favoring him with a sweet smile, "It wouldn't have been a problem. I know it's important to take care of everyone living in my home"

His returning smile was brittle, and he could feel his teeth grinding together, "Our home"

She hummed, replying quietly "Whatever you say, Rabastan"

Before he could bite back a retort, his brother entered the room and settled into the seat across from them, face looking haggard and drawn. Granger reached across the table towards him, and he stretched forward, grabbing her fingers in his hand for a moment before releasing her.

"How are you doing this morning?" he asked, rubbing his eyes blearily. She shrugged, embarrassed look on her face.

"I'm ok," she answered shortly, before clearing her throat and looking over at Rabastan through her lashes, "I'm, ah... I'm sorry for last night"

He blinked at her, surprised at the apology, "I...uh...Thanks?"

She chewed on her lower lip before looking back down, "I usually have silencing spells up, but I was distracted last night and forgot to cast them. I'm sorry I woke you up"

He shook his head, "I think I can say with absolute certainty that everyone at this table has their own personal demons, Granger. Nightmares come with the territory"

The look she bestowed him with was soft, appreciation laced with a touch of regret, and she reached over to pat his arm gently, "Thanks"

Across the table he saw Rodolphus tense, eyes drawn towards the muggleborn's left arm, and he followed his gaze. He winced at the sight, knowing what his brother's reaction would be.

"Hermione, what is on your arm?" came the barely restrained question. Her gaze shifted away from Rabastan, and back down to her arm.

"What do you mean?"

Rodolphus favored her with a flat glare, crossing his arms over his chest as he gestured with his chin in her direction, "You know what I mean. Don't play dumb"

She opened her eyes wide, turning her left arm over to expose it to daylight, "Oh, you mean this?"

"'Oh, you mean this?'" mocked Rodolphus in a high pitched voice, before scowling, "Yes. That"

"Well, it was really Rabastan's idea," she responded brightly. Rabastan stiffened, favoring her with a horrified look.

"Granger" he hissed, "What are you doing?"

She gave him another guileless smile, "You did say you should live by your convictions, didn't you?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, muttering low enough his brother couldn't hear, "This is not what I meant, and you know it"

She narrowed her own gaze at him, leaning forward, a smirk that could only be described as mercenary on her lips as she whispered back, "Do I?"

"Is this what you did this weekend?" demanded Rodolphus, and Hermione shrugged.

"It was one of the things I did this weekend," she answered nonchalantly. Rodolphus growled.

"You are aware that it permanent," he snapped at her. Granger favored him with an unimpressed look.

"No. Really? I thought that the needles they were using meant I could just wipe it off in an hour or two" she mocked back. Rodolphus groaned.

"I'm not trying to be your father"

"So then stop," she snapped at him, "I did this because it allowed me some control over something I had no decision in"

Rodolphus wrinkled his nose, "But it's so tacky"

Granger huffed, "I think it's wonderful"

Thorfinn reached over, grasping her wrist gently in his hand and turning over her arm so he could get a better look at freshly inked tattoo on her forearm. Above the cursed mudblood scar in elaborate black cursive ink was the word "Pure" and below it "Magic". He smiled before releasing her, "I think it's perfect"

She beamed back at him, "Thank you. See? Thorfinn thinks it's perfect"

"But it's permanent," whined Rodolphus again, and Granger laughed.

"Sometimes I forget how different the world was when you were growing up," she answered, "Most people my age have a tattoo. I will not be hindered any further by ink on my arm than I was by being a mudblood growing up"

There were three sounds of protest, and Granger threw her hands in the air, "For fuck's sake, for four men who used that word like a mantra for 20 years, you lot get awful squicky awful quickly when I say it"

"Say what?" came Lucius's voice from the doorway. Hermione pursed her lips, glaring at her three charges.

"Mudblood" she repeated. The blonde man paled at the word and she threw her hands up in the air again, "Honestly"

"But, you WERE hindered by being a mu...muggleborn growing up," protested Rodolphus. Hermione sighed.

"Only by you lot. And since you're all living under my roof, I think it's safe to say it didn't hinder me much," she replied, and Rabastan chuckled next to her. She turned a thoughtful look on him, and he favored her with an amused look.

"Are you sure they sorted you into the right house?" he asked, "Are we sure there isn't any pureblood lineage lingering around in your past?"

She laughed sharply, "Thank Merlin, no. Muggles muggles and more muggles as far as the tree will grow"

"Are you really certain? Because you act an awful lot like a snake," he answered and she chuckled at him.

"I blame that on spending two years in this place with those four," she snorted, gesturing at the men across the table. Standing, she vanished her dirty plate, before glaring at Rodolphus again, "My body, my decision. No more discussion. Got it?"

The older brother grumbled, but nodded reluctantly at her. She smiled, pleased, before leaving the room again. Rabastan leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in amusement. Rodolphus cleared his throat, and he found himself pinned by an angry hazel glare, "What?"

"What the hell, Bast?" came the growl. Rabastan raised his eyebrows.

"You think I did that?" he shot back, pointing in the direction she'd left.

"Well, she did say it was your idea," replied Rodolphus, "And don't think I didn't know about your thing for tattoos when we were younger"

Rabastan scoffed, "Which is it Rodolphus? Does she hate me so much that I'm driving her away, or does she like me so much that she follows through on my hair brained suggestions on a whim?"

"I don't know. Which is it, Bast?"

Rabastan stood abruptly, vanishing his own plate, "I don't have to take this from you"

Rodolphus scowled, "You're right. You don't. You're welcome to leave whenever you like"

The air left Rabastan's lungs abruptly, the floor swaying beneath his feet. He could see the remorse on Rodolphus's face as soon as the words left his mouth, but he held up a hand to stave off the apology. Silently, he stalked out of the room, knowing exactly what he needed to do.


	19. Chapter 19

_**OK, I was planning on waiting to post this chapter**_ tomorrow, _ **but decided to do it tonight instead. What can I say, I'm impatient sometimes ;) You guys give me so much life on my rough days! Thank you!**_

Rabastan flung open the door to the office, storming in, pointing a finger at the muggleborn witch sitting at the desk in the center of the room.

"YOU!" he hissed. She raised an eyebrow at him, paper held up in front of her face, pausing in mid action.

"Me?" she inquired, the same small turn to her lips as she took him in.

"You are a menace," he growled and she laughed in return.

"Oh, come off it. It was a cold shower," she rolled her eyes, dropping the page onto the desk in front of her. His palms tightened into fists and he stalked forward, pressing them onto the mahogany wood.

"Rodolphus is angry with me," he bit back. Granger winced in return, small smile still on her lips.

"I admit, I knew he didn't like tattoos, I just underestimated how much exactly," she answered honestly. Rabastan threw his arms in the air.

"You knew? You knew!" he exclaimed, "You did all of this to get back at me for what? Opening up the door to your office?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, "For invading my privacy? For stealing away those few precious moments I actually have to myself? For choosing to be a giant prat instead of a decent human being?"

"For crying out loud, Granger, my brother just told me I could leave any time I want," he deflated, dropping down into the seat in front of her. She raised both eyebrows at him.

"Huh," she answered.

"Huh?" he mocked, "That's it? That's all I get?"

She snorted, "Well, I'm not going to apologize for the water. And I'm certainly not going to apologize for the tattoo," she grinned at him, chuckling a little, "Your face was absolutely priceless"

"My expression reflected exactly how heavy the cauldron you threw me under was," he sniped back, leaning his head into his hand. She giggled in return, putting a hand over her mouth.

"I really underestimated Roddy's hate for tattoos," she snickered. Rabastan attempted to glower at her, but her mirthful response teased a small smirk on the corner of his own face.

"Next time you have an ingenious ideas about how to piss off my brother, please ask me first," he muttered. Granger shook her head, picking up the piece of parchment she'd dropped.

"Duly noted," she answered before wrinkling her nose at the note, "Ugh, this is... I think this is fanfiction"

"Fanfiction?"

"A story written by someone about a person or character they admire. In this case it's about your brother. And I hope to all things holy it's not based on real life events, because I don't need that visual in my head"

"Well if it involves a broom closet and a transfigured carrot, it's probably not too far off," he quipped, plucking lint from his trousers. Granger made a retching noise before throwing the letter into his lap.

"If I have to suffer through these, so do you. Consider yourself co-opted for letter duty," she replied, following it with a stack of parchment. Rabastan scowled at it in return.

"This is your job. Why are you making me do your job?" he grumbled, grabbing the first letter and opening it.

"Consider it penance in lieu of an actual apology," she quipped back, "Unless you don't want me to talk to Rodolphus on your behalf"

"I shouldn't need you to talk to him on my behalf. You shouldn't even be here!" he protested halfheartedly. She shook her head.

"You're right. I shouldn't, and neither should you. And yet, here we are. Barely tolerating each others company"

Rabastan snorted, "You just have a comeback for everything, don't you?"

"It's the curse of being the brightest witch on one's age. All the sarcasm, none of the company to keep up with you," she answered with a tone of mock frustration.

"'Sarcasm is the last refuge of a defeated wit'"

Granger snorted back at him, "Dostoevsky didn't have to deal with prisoners and sycophants"

Rabastan raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side, "And which of those two categories do you place me in, Granger?"

She paused again, looking up at him with a small smile on her face, "Neither, actually"

He favored her with a cautious, curious look, "While I'd say I'm flattered, somehow I doubt you place me in higher esteem"

She laughed then, a full sound that whorled around him, lifting his spirits without explaining why, "I don't know that I place you in lower esteem, Rabastan. I just don't know what to make of you"

A small assurance settled into his bones, alleviating tension he'd forgotten was even there, "Well, that's better than tossing me in with the sycophants I suppose"

"Considering the company you'd be keeping, yes. It's nice to have someone around isn't permanently attached to my arse by their lips," she muttered back.

"Now, now. It's not nice to talk about Potter that way, " he retorted, reading the first letter in his hands.

Granger gasped and laughed again, "Rabastan! That was positively witty"

"I prefer the term droll," he drawled back, crossing one ankle over his other knee.

"Don't stretch your vocabulary further than you can reach," she teased back, opening the next letter. Shaking his head at the lack of punctuation and confusing grammar, he tossed the page on the desk.

"If Roddy can understand that catastrophe, he deserves a medal. I'm not sure that English is even their third language"

Granger grimaced, "Welcome to my own personal hell"

"Perhaps some wine would make it more tolerable?" he asked hopefully. Granger snorted at him.

"It's not even 10 o'clock in the morning. Let's try not to beat the alcoholics at their own game"

Rabastan opened the next page, a picture falling into his lap. Lifting it up to look at it more closely, he cried out in distress as it moved, throwing it onto the desk. Granger frowned, picking it up to examine it as well, blanching at the lewd pose of the subject. Wordlessly she threw it in the fire, summoning the wine glasses and a bottle of Merlot, "Never mind. This is the perfect time to start drinking today"

He chuckled, accepting the glass as he opened the next letter. Lifting it up, he waved it at her, "This one is for Antonin. It's a spell"

She raised her own head and gave a muted smile, "That's not unusual. Many people write him for advice on crafting their own spells"

"Do you pass them along?" he asked, receiving a shrug in return.

"Usually. He has a brilliant mind when it comes to spell creation. Sometimes he writes them back, sometimes he doesn't. If it looks particularly nasty I won't give it to him," she responded.

He frowned a little, "But you don't trust him"

She sighed, "I don't distrust him. I am afraid of him. There's a difference"

"I'm confused"

She snorted, taking a pull of her drink,"Join the club"

"But-" he started, breaking off as she raised her hand at him.

"Antonin and I are complicated. It's best left at that"

"You care for him," he replied, sharp understanding plunging on top of him. She tilted her head, swirling her wine around in her glass absentmindedly.

"Yes," she answered honestly, looking down and away from him, fingers twitching restlessly on the letter in front of her.

"Do you love him?"

She laughed, a hollow, self deprecating sound, face full of shadows that hadn't been there moments before, "I don't think I can love"

"You know, he told me the same thing"

She shrugged, catching his eyes again then, "Antonin and I are as alike as we are different. It makes for a complicated relationship"

"Well, that and the fact that you're terrified of him," he retorted. She shrugged, rubbing her hand diagonally across her chest.

"And that"

He sighed, opening the next letter, squinting at the writing, "You're not an easy person to figure out, Granger"

"Hermione," she sighed at him. He lifted his head, eyebrows raised again, "You keep calling me by my surname. Just call me Hermione"

He smirked at her, "But Granger has fewer syllables"

Hermione groaned, "And just like that...back with the prisoners"

He laughed, surprised as the sound burst out of him in genuine amusement, a lightness he hadn't felt in years shifting into his chest, "Call me Bast"

She shared a tentative smile with him, one that was equal parts hopeful and genuine, "Alright, Bast"

They fell back into a comfortable silence as they sorted through the mail, letters separated into different piles. The breadth of subject material amongst the mail was staggering. As Hermione had mentioned, there were an alarming number of women, and slightly smaller number of men, whom fancied themselves in love with the former Death Eaters. Their correspondences ranged from tawdry and salacious to thoughtful conversation, covering subjects from favorite sexual position to favorite ways to torture people to spell formulation. And while the pornographic nature of some of the letters was disquieting, it was almost less offensive than the diatribes people thought were appropriate for their intended audience.

"How do you decide?" he finally asked, and she looked up from her own paper, face slightly pale.

"How do I decide what?" she answered, tossing the page from her lap into the fire.

"Which letters to give them and which letters to throw away?" he clarified. She shook her head.

"I try not to throw anything away. I think it's their right to read the trash people send them," she answered.

"You mean, read the words they used to say about you," he answered shrewdly. She shrugged and nodded, not embarrassed by the accusation.

"I used to think about throwing them all away. Wondered if I was torturing them for the sake of feeling better about myself. But, then I realized my keeping it from them won't make the words go away," she replied softly, "I can't keep them away from the horrible things others say forever. Eventually, they're going to have to decide if that's the way they want to live or not"

Rabastan chuckled, "I doubt any of them are going to go back to calling you a mudblood and claiming they're better than you"

A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face, "Maybe"

Rabastan gave her a questioning look, "They can't even hear the word anymore without blushing like schoolgirls, Granger"

"But, that's here. With me. And guilt is a strong influence. When they're out there, away from me, around others..." she paused, "Well, I can't be sure of what they'll end up doing"

Rabastan shook his head, "Roddy is never going 'out there', and the others are as loyal as they come"

She groaned, dropping her head back in her chair, "Delightful. Same group, new master"

"I don't understand, isn't this what you want? To be treated as more than your blood status?"

"What I want is to just be a witch. I don't want my blood status to be considered at all," she shot back, "And I certainly don't want to have my own gang of followers"

"And yet, here we are," he retorted, spreading his hands out.

"And yet, here we are," she agreed, eyeing him quietly. Her gaze was piercing and contemplative, and made him uncomfortable. Shifting in his seat, he grabbed another letter to keep his fingers from fidgeting, tearing the seal on it forcefully.

As he opened the vellum, a picture dropped out into his lap, and he placed it off to the side while he glanced at the writing first. His spine stiffened at the words - 'There is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it', with no signature, no post script, no further description. His left hand tightened around the parchment, crumpling it between his fingers.

Numbly he looked down at the photograph in his right hand, stomach dropping at the sight. It was a boy – maybe five or six years old – with dark curls, and drooping lids and hazel eyes. His jaw was square, but his smile was one Rabastan would recognize anywhere. He'd seen it every day growing up. He'd seen it just that morning across the table from himself. It was Rodolphus's smile.

There was a hiss of surprise from across the desk, and his head shot up to look at Granger. She had a similar photograph in her hands, and her expression was enraged. Standing up, he leaned over, plucking it out of her fingers and replacing it with his own as he looked at hers. It was an arm, framed by black, seated next to a far too familiar silver mask. Etched into the limb in silver was the morsmordre symbol, snake twisting and sliding through the skull's mouth.

They shared a grim look and she held up the photograph of the child, "He's Roddy's, isn't he?"

Rabastan could only nod mutely.


	20. Chapter 20

Hermione let out a puff of breath, looking back at the photograph in her hands with a mixture of wonder and fear on her face. She flipped the picture over, looking for any sign of who it may have come from, before turning it back to face her. The picture was taken as the child had begun to smile – his lips going from a straight line to full teeth, his cheeks filling and rounding out as he grinned at the camera, breeze tussling his hair. She reached up with a finger on her other hand, gently touching the side of his face, shaking her own head in disbelief.

"I don't understand," she said. Rabastan fell back into his own seat, sprawling his arms out on either side as he stared at her and the child.

"What don't you understand?" he asked tiredly, his own bones suddenly feeling too heavy to hold up.

"How did this..." she gestured at the boy, and Rabastan raised an eyebrow.

"Should I draw you a diagram?" he answered, "You see Granger, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much they share a special hug..."

"I know where babies come from, Bast," she interrupted, gracing him with a withering look, "I just... My understanding was that Roddy and Bellatrix hadn't been...hadn't done anything intimate for quite some time prior to his incarceration"

"Well, all it takes is once," he shrugged, wrinkling his nose at the thought of bedding the deranged witch. Hermione shared his expression, as she shook her head.

"But, really? How...how messed up were you all at the end?" she asked. A cold shiver slipped down his spine, and he shook his head. The end of the war contained memories that were mixes of truth and terrified delusion, where everyone was out to save themselves. He could remember much of what he'd done, but at the time he'd been emotionally shut down, insulating himself from feeling anything as all he felt was pain – physical and mental.

"I'm not sure I can answer that," he said after a long pause, lips frowning. She cocked her head at him curiously, small frown bending her own lips. He sighed, "I'm not... It's just... I was a mess from Azkaban. We all were. And we came out into this world where this person was controlling us with mostly cruelty when he used to use bribery, and it just made things so much more... More. I remember what I did, I remember why I did it, but there wasn't much of me left"

Her expression softened then, and she nodded, "I understand. After we'd spent so much time running around and finding the horcuxes, and after...this..." she turned over her arm, "The only thing left was survival. And fear. And sometimes, I didn't know which one of those was going to win"

He nodded, stomach clenching anxiously at the long buried memories surging up towards him, "I suppose it's entirely possible Roddy could have slept with Bellatrix, if only to feel something other than pain and anger"

Hermione settled back a moment, face pensive as she looked down at the picture, chewing on her lower lip. She tapped her finger next to the child's face before shaking her head, standing up to cross the room and grab a book out from a bookshelf next to the fireplace. She muttered to herself as she brought it back to the desk, dropping it down and flipping open to a page in the back. Her eyes widened and she shook her head more sharply before turning it to him. He followed her finger down to the name it pointed at.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," he read, raising a quizzical eyebrow at her. She favored him with an unimpressed look in return.

"Really?" she asked, and he furrowed his brow, looking back down at the picture more closely. It was of a young man, handsome with dark hair, square jaw and hazel eyes, tiny hint of a smirk around his lips as he stared at the camera. It was a face he recognized, though it had been less distinct when he'd known it, and he blinked.

"Voldemort?" he asked in surprise. She nodded sharply at him.

"I guess you never heard the whole story," she acknowledged, "Your precious Dark Lord was a half blood, with a bone to pick against those he thought did him wrong. His chosen name was an anagram of his real name"

Rabastan let out a harsh breath, leaning back in his chair, repeating dumbly, "We followed a half blood on a quest for blood purity"

"He was, by all accounts, very charismatic. It was, apparently, very difficult to turn him down, though I suspect blackmail was involved as well," she replied, "Many people were taken in by him, and in turn they brought others to his cause"

Rabastan nodded mutely, looking back down at the picture. He tilted forward again before grabbing the photograph of the child, comparing the two, "Do you think...?"

She nodded and then shrugged, "I mean, there are enough similarities"

"But that smile..." he started.

"It's all Roddy," she finished, "I know"

The two stared at the pictures side by side for a few minutes, before she looked back down at him, brow furrowing, "I don't know how to ask Roddy about this"

Rabastan shook his head, "I don't think we should"

"But, what if it's his child?" she argued. Rabastan shook his head again.

"What if it's not?"

She chewed her lip again, staring back down at the photograph, "I have an idea. I think I know someone who could help us"

She picked up the photograph, walking towards the front of the office, before pausing and looking over her shoulder at him, "Are you coming?"

Rabastan jumped to his feet, grabbing the second picture, and following her out into the hallway. Their journey was short – she lead him into the Master suite, making sure to close the door behind her. He raised an eyebrow in her direction, "Keeping a hostage, Granger?"

She let out an amused breath, "No. Nothing quite so interesting"

He followed her through the main bedroom of the suite to the sitting room, which he found to be lined with almost as many bookshelves as the study. An amused grin crossed his mouth as he turned around to look at the hundreds of books lining the walls, "I think you have a problem"

"I have a lot of problems. Bibliophilia is probably low on the list of ones you should be concerned about," she responded glibly, crossing the room to a picture hanging on the wall. It was a gilded frame that was covered with black velvet drapes, hiding the subject from view. Glancing over her shoulder at Rabastan she said, "Brace yourself. He's even snarkier in death"

Rabastan raised an eyebrow as she pulled the silver cord that opened the curtain, and a small laugh escaped his lips, "Snape?"

The portrait was a more favorable characterization of the dour man, with less lank appearing hair, nose that lacked the same profound hook he'd had in life, and skin that appeared warmer than he recalled him having. His expression, however, was one that only the former spy could have worn – a mix between irritation and contempt, twisting his lips even in the afterlife. The painted face turned to look at him, pulling back his upper lip in derision, "Oh, delightful. Another Lestrange"

"Severus," admonished Granger, and Rabastan chuckled harder.

"Severus? You're on a first name basis with this sly bastard?"

"Rabastan!" she shouted at him, and he held his hands up placatingly.

"Alright, I'm sorry. I just...In your bedrooms? Really?" he asked.

Hermione sighed, turning to glance up at Snape, "It was hung in Hogwarts for a few years, but he was driving McGonagall spare and there were some...protests, given his dual roles in the war. No one seemed to know what to do with him, so I offered to bring it here. He hung in the study for a few weeks, until I was caught between setting him or Roddy on fire because of the constant arguments. So I put him here in my sitting room, and this is where he stays"

"In the relative silence that I was denied during my living years, no less," responded the potions master, "It's almost worth the night time interruptions-"

"Alright, we're here for help, not for a discourse on my personal life," interrupted Granger.

The sneer transformed into a smirk, "The insufferable-know-it-all needs my help? Will wonders never cease"

She favored the painting with a withering look, "I swear to Merlin, whenever I find out who commissioned your portrait, I'm going to make them rue the day they incorporated that phrase into it's canvas"

To Rabastan's surprise, the surly man laughed, the expression frightening on his face, "What do you need, Hermione?"

"This is going to be a little awkward," she confessed.

"Ah, a true change of pace from the norm of me hanging in your sitting rooms, waiting to be stumbled upon by lost and naked boy toys," he retorted.

"Fine. Do you know if Roddy and Bellatrix had sex prior to the end of the war?" she snapped, chestnut eyes flashing at the painting.

Snape's painted eyebrows lifted towards his generous post-mortem hairline, "I see"

"Did you?" she probed, shoulders drawing back tightly.

"No. Not that I was privy to their personal life, but Bellatrix was quite smitten with the Dark Lord"

Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line, before she raised the picture of the boy into his view, "What do you think of this?"

The portrait became silent for a moment as he surveyed the photograph, "That looks like a child"

"Ten points to Slytherin," she replied dryly, "Who do you think the child looks like?"

"I'm assuming this isn't a trick question," he answered, black acrylic eyes searching the picture.

"Well, clearly he's half Black," answered Hermione, "The question is – does he look more like Tom or Roddy?"

Snape's mouth became a thin line, "If I had to guess parentage, based on amorous desire alone, I would probably choose Voldemort. But, he does have some of Rodolphus's features"

Hermione sighed, nodding, "That's what we thought, too"

"Where did this come from?"

"We got a letter today...Well, actually two letters. One had this picture, the other had a picture of a mask and a dark mark" she confessed.

"Who were they addressed to?" he questioned.

"The mark was addressed to Antonin. Do you recall who the picture of the child was addressed to?" she asked, turning to Rabastan.

"It was addressed to Roddy" he answered.

Hermione grimaced, and nodded, "Do you recall if there was a return address?"

He shrugged, "I don't, but I didn't look that closely"

"There wasn't one on mine," she answered, before pulling the other picture out from his hand, "Do either of you recognize this mask?"

Rabastan leaned to look at it more closely, while Snape's eyes narrowed in his painting, "I don't"

Snape cleared his throat, "Neither do I, but that's because it wasn't one of ours"

"Pardon?" asked Rabastan, looking back at the picture.

"Our masks were cast in bronze, and decorated with silver and black paint overlay. They were designed to absorb the light," lectured the dead man,"You can clearly see light reflected off the top of this one. It's a good likeness, but not one of ours"

Hermione chewed her lip again, turning to look at Rabastan with a question in her eyes, asking haltingly,"Is your...is it?"

He paused, looking back at her before he dropped his eyes to his own wrist, covered by a long sleeved shirt, "They were... You know what they looked like. They were made from pure dark magic, Hermione" he answered softly.

"I know. But I have to..." she gestured helplessly, embarrassment on her face. He nodded, rolling up his own left sleeve. The mark had twisted down into an angry, red scar with black lines streaking through it, no longer resembling the feared symbol. He stared at it, trying to remember what it looked like when it was whole, trying to remember what it felt like. A sharp pain radiated from his wrist to his elbow and he winced, before it eased away again.

Cool, gentle fingers brushed against his forearm, and he jumped in surprise at the touch. Hermione had moved closer, rubbing her thumb over the old mark, "Does it still hurt?"

He hesitated, before nodding, "Sometimes"

The warmth in her eyes made him draw back, pulling up to his full height, tugging down his sleeve even as he curtained off his own feelings. She dropped her hand to her side, stepping away in unconscious response to his withdrawal, pulling in a breath before her face schooled closed, "Mine, too"

"Things to be grateful for from beyond the veil. No more burning mark on my arm, and no more emotionally stunted dunderheads to listen to," drawled the painting behind them. Hermione groaned, glaring back at the portrait.

"Turpentine works just as well on magical artifacts as it does on muggle," she swore at him. Snape laughed in return, and she yanked the curtains shut again. Rubbing a hand down her face, she looked back up at Rabastan, and shook her head.

"Bast, I need you to be honest with me," she hesitated, anxiety fluttering over her features before she continued, "Do you miss being a Death Eater?"


	21. Chapter 21

_**As always, thank you all for your lovely reviews! I am the worst at responding to everyone personally, but I always read all of them. They totally make my day, especially when I'm laughing at work for no reason. And I have to say, I think "Snapple" is my new favorite nickname for Snape!**_

He was suddenly transported to 20 years in the past, sitting his N.E.W.T exams. There was a paper in front of him, and a quill in his hand, and he knew a question had been asked, but he wasn't quite sure what the answer was. Theoretically, the discussion being open-ended and presumably there wasn't a right answer, but was certain there was definitely a wrong answer and he was pretty sure his answer was it.

His silence seemed answer enough. He watched her deflate, shoulders dropping a moment as she chewed her lip again, "Right. Okay"

He blinked, "I didn't..."

She lifted a hand at him, "You don't... You don't have to say. Its alright. No one just completely gives up their life view in a week"

He huffed in irritation, "Stop saying it's alright"

She froze, turning a narrowed gaze on him, "And what exactly should I say, Bast? It's deplorable that you can stand here talking to me, and generally having a pleasant conversation with one breath and in the next be thinking about killing me? Because in spite of everything I've done, and said, and tried to change... There's still you. And people like you. Who actually believe I stole my magic, and don't belong here. Who think your world would be better off if I was dead than from a background you haven't even tried to understand. It's NOT alright, but bugger all if I can figure out how to change your mind"

He frowned at her, "At least that's being honest about how you feel"

She gave a bark of laughter before sneering at him, "Ah, yes. Because that's what you are. A beacon of truth in an otherwise darkened world"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, "I don't want you dead"

She glared at him, "Well, that makes it all better, then"

"I just don't know how you fit into this world. Or if you even do," he admitted, "And I spent the last three quarters of my life learning that you don't"

"Oh, I'd be willing to believe you've spent the entirety of your life learning that I don't belong here," she replied bitterly, stalking back out of her room. He followed her closely, just barely catching the door to the office before it closed on him.

"Granger, everyone I considered a friend growing up was a Death Eater," he explained, closing the door behind himself and locking it, "It's familiar. Its comfortable. It was as close to home as this place was"

She wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging them tight above her hips, face closed off once more, "All I hear is how homicide makes more sense to you than accepting diversity into your homeland"

He shook his head harshly, "It wasn't always like that"

"But it ended up like that. And you didn't try to leave. You just...stayed. And you would go back, given the chance," she countered, brushing a hand under her left eye.

He let out a breath, "I wouldn't...not to kill. I would go back to be with the people I knew. To enjoy the conversations, and the camaraderie"

"The murder, the rape, the destruction..." she mocked, and he felt impatience surge up inside of him, cresting over his confusion and anxiety.

"Like you're so much better," he snapped back, "You talk about us like we're antiquated, archaic, inconvenient. We spent generations creating this world, and protecting it, and you walk in and want to change it. Make it something we don't even recognize as our own anymore"

"I'm not trying to take anything!" she exploded, "I'm just trying to fucking survive! I have nowhere else left to go, Bast. The wizarding world IS my world. This is it. This is all I have. All I want is to carve out a little place to live, and request a little dignity while I'm at it. I don't think that's so much to ask for"

"And where are you carving that little place to live? Right now, you're living in an ancient house on ancient lands that don't belong to you, playing Lady of the Manor to a group that you had to literally imprison to get to live here," he sneered in return.

They glared at each other coldly, him with fists at his sides, her with chin tilted up, eyes blazing a bright amber color at him. The silence between them drew out, and he gritted his jaws together angrily at her stubbornness. Finally, he watched her take in a deep breath, letting it out through her nose.

"I need to find that child, Rabastan. And I intend on bringing him back here," she said, voice carefully controlled.

"I think that is something we both agree on," he conceded.

"I need you to come with me to help me identify his family, but I also need to know you won't turn against me at the first sight of a Dark Mark," she admitted. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Family comes first, Granger. I promise you I'll help you find the child and bring him back here"

She nodded, "After that, the choice is yours. You can return to being a Death Eater if you want. Just know I'll turn you over to the Aurors the second I know you're back with them"

"I wouldn't expect anything different," he answered evenly. She nodded briskly again.

"Well, if we're going to do this, we're going to need help," she said, turning back to the desk, grabbing a spare piece of parchment and scribbling a note onto it. Walking to the window, she cracked it open and whistled. A smoke colored Great Owl swooped into the room, circling around once before landing on the back of her chair. She smiled at it gently, rubbing her fingers down it's chest.

"Hello Orion," she cooed at it gently, the bird ducking it's head down to rub against the back of her hand. She gently tied the scroll to it's leg, giving it a treat off her desk before ushering it back out the window.

Sealing the aperture closed again, she turned back to Rabastan, "There are two people I trust not to spill my secrets"

"Let me guess, Potter and Ron?" he returned with a bored tone. She grinned at him, lips curling deviously.

"No. They're wonderful, and we have secrets we'll take to the grave, but if I want those two gossips to keep something quiet they require a wand oath. No, the first I just sent an owl to. The second is where we're going next," she replied, crossing the room to grab a jacket off the coat hanger in the corner. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"And how do you propose we get there without anyone seeing us leave?" he asked. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you a wizard or not?"

Rabastan sighed, "I am, but I have it on good authority I would not be able to apparate anywhere on these grounds"

She chuckled, "That is true. There is, however, a perfectly good fireplace right here"

He turned to look at the low burned coals, and then back at her, "I thought the only floo connected fireplaces were in the receiving room"

"Well..." she hedged as she tucked the two pictures into her pocket, "The only LEGALLY connected fireplaces are in the receiving room. This one may or may not be connected to another place"

"And I thought you Gryffindors were all about following the rules," he answered dryly. She laughed at him, genuine amusement crossing her face.

"Am I the first Gryffindor you've ever talked to? Because I'm pretty sure the whole lot of us are excellent at finding reasons why we should break rules," laughter dying down, but amused look remaining, she beckoned him over, grabbing his hand in her own, "I'll take you with me"

They stepped out on the other side into an over-crowded storage room, stacked high on each side with boxes. It was dark, and cool, with dim light filtering through dust particles that hung in the air. She sneezed once next to him, waving her hand in front of her face to clear them away. Not releasing his hand, she tugged him behind her to the front of the room, and out into a just as crowded shop.

The shelves were lined high with brightly colored products, and the noise of children, parents and loud toys filled the air, making an overwhelming cacophony. He watched her flinch a little at the sound, but she wound expertly through the aisles, bringing him to the register where she dropped his hand. A young, blonde, frazzled appearing woman stood behind the till, receipts in one hand and product in the other.

"Afternoon, Verity," Hermione greeted her warily. The woman spared her a short glare, before pointing wordlessly at the staircase behind them. The brunette nodded briefly, before turning back to Rabastan and jerking her head in the direction the assistant had pointed.

The stairs spiraled upwards, leading them from the barely controlled chaos of the shop below into to an expansive flat. As soon as they crossed the threshold into the living space, all sounds from below ceased, and Rabastan let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"George?" called out Hermione, walking across the entryway towards the kitchen. Rabastan lingered at the doorway, uncomfortable in the unknown dwelling.

A head of red hair popped out from a hallway just beyond the kitchen, "Hermione?"

She smiled at him, reaching out to hug him as he stepped more fully into the living space. Rabastan noted he was shorter than Ron, and leaner, but shared the trademark Weasley coloring. As he pulled away from the younger woman and turned towards Rabastan, wide grin on his face, Rabastan's eyes were drawn to the left side of his head where there was only a scar where an ear should have been.

"George Weasley," came the succinct greeting. Rabastan took his hand, shaking it firmly, before introducing himself as well, "So, what brings you two to my humble empire?"

"We need your help and your discretion," came Hermione's answer, and the redhead favored her with an intrigued look.

"Hermione Granger needs help and discretion. My day just got decidedly more interesting," he answered, excitement evident in his voice, glancing over his right shoulder as if looking for someone. The was half a pause before he turned back to Hermione, smile a touch dimmer, "How can I help?"

Hermione pulled the two photographs out of her pocket, turning them over to George, before pulling out one of the letters as well, "These arrived in the post today. No return address, no signature"

The red head frowned slightly as he looked down at the pictures. Lifting the one of the boy up he waved it, "Is this...?"

"We don't know," she answered honestly, "But we need to find out"

"Do you think...?" he asked thoughtfully, and Hermione shook her head.

"Honestly, it could be either," she finished his thought for him. Rabastan raised an eyebrow at their conversation, clearing his throat to remind them of his presence. Hermione blushed for a moment, giving him a mildly embarrassed grin.

"George and I lived together briefly after the war," she replied in explanation, "You know, between poverty and having more money than one person could ever hope to spend"

"So, what exactly do you need from me?" asked George, eyes lifting back up to Hermione's face. She sighed, running a hand through her hair before pulling the two pieces of parchment out of her pocket and handing them over as well.

"I need to know where the letters came from. I know you were doing some locator charm work not too long ago, including tracing items back to where they'd last come from. I was hoping you might be able to do the same on the papers"

He nodded, "It's some prototype charms, but I can see if it brings up any answers. If it was owl post, it might take a day or two to trace back, though"

She nodded in return, "That's fine. The sooner the better, but we don't need to leave immediately"

"Anything else?" he asked, and she grinned at him mischievously.

"Well, I was thinking it would be best if we traveled the muggle way to start with," she answered. George's returning grin was so wide Rabastan was certain it was going to crack his jaw.

"Oh, really? That should be great fun," he answered, walking across the room to grab a contraption off the coffee table.

"Mmmm," she answered, nodding her head, "I suspect it will be a complete delight. I do, however, need your particular, expertise in securing the appropriate documents"

"Consider it done," answered George, waving her over towards a blank wall.

"How soon do you think you can have them back?" she asked before she smiled at him. The apparatus flashed, and she stepped away, beckoning Rabastan forward, "Muggle camera. We need your picture"

He nodded silently, taking the place she'd stood only moments before. The bright light blinded him, and George glanced down at the camera before nodding, "Should only take two or three days to get them together and test them"

"Test them?" asked Rabastan. George looked up, flashing him with another brief smile.

"Well, muggles are very particular when it comes to their identifications. Wouldn't do any good if I made them and they couldn't pass snuff, would it?" he responded airily before sharing a conspiratorial smile with Hermione. She reached over and patted his shoulder.

"Obviously, this needs to stay quiet," she said. The smile fell off his face, and he nodded, expression serious for the first time since he'd entered the room.

"You keep yourself safe, Hermione. No running off on some half cocked plan to save the world," he replied. She nodded solemnly.

"I promise"

George turned to look at Rabastan, eyes narrowing, "I'll hold you responsible if anything happens to her"

Rabastan raised his hands in front of his body, sardonic tone, "As I understand it, you would be standing in a line to murder me"

George laughed again, "Well, I'm pretty certain Roddy would be at the head of it"

"Or Antonin," Rabastan mumbled in response. In spite of missing an ear, the red head cocked his head and nodded sharply at the reply.

"Oh, excellent. More archaic threats implying I'm incapable of caring for myself," came Hermione's waspish reply from behind them. George shrugged and smiled at her again.

"A lot of people care about you. You're just going to have to accept it"

She sighed irritably before reaching over to hug him again, "A lot of people care about you, too, you know?"

He nodded mutely into her shoulder before releasing her, "I'll send word when I'm done"

"Thanks George," she answered, before turning back towards Rabastan, "Let's go meet our next little friend"

He followed her back down through the chaos, and through the floo into her office. As they exited on the other side, she paused to brush the soot from her clothes. A throat from across the room caused them both to freeze, looking up at the intruder.

"And exactly how long have you had an unregistered floo in your office, Hermione?"


	22. Chapter 22

Hermione recovered first, gasping, "Merlin's saggy balls, Draco. You just scared the shite out of me!"

The blonde laughed, standing gracefully out of the chair he'd been waiting for them in, stepping across the room and leaning down to kiss her on the cheek before nodding at Rabastan, "Your security on this room is awful. A notice-me-not? And I'm pretty sure my unborn child could take down the wards you have set up"

"Oh, shut it, you prat. It's my private office, in my own house, and the only reason you were able to get through the wards is because I keyed you into them," she retorted with a fond smile. The expression was mirrored on the other man's face, and he chuckled as he allowed them to step further into the room.

"So, tell me, what poorly thought out plan are you involving me with this time?" he asked, settling back into one of the chairs on the opposite side of her desk. Rabastan took the chair to his right, and she leaned her hip against the deep mahogany wood.

"Oh, you know, just the life changing kind," she quipped back before reaching into her pocket and producing the two pictures. Wordlessly, she handed them over to him, expression passive. Rabastan looked over at the younger man, watching his own face change from bored to surprised to completely closed off. It was a tactic he'd seen Lucius employ over the years, a way to protect himself from the outside world's influence.

Draco was, in fact, an even mix of his parents. Tall and slender like his mother, but favoring his father's coloring, his features were even and symmetrical and bore traces of them both. The way he spoke was all Lucius, but the sound of his voice was softer and had a lilting tone to it like Narcissa. It was somewhat surreal to watch the progeny of his former friends actually interact with others as an adult.

"This is...unexpected," he replied evenly. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"That's the nicest way to put that," she replied in the same tone. He sighed, looking up back up at her.

"Let me guess. You're planning on running after him, and bringing him back here, inviting chaos and pandemonium into our otherwise serene lives"

She snorted, "Ah, yes. Lestrange Estate – an oasis of tranquility in an otherwise deranged world. The last bastion of sanity amongst the masses, lead by a plucky do-gooder with a savior complex that can't leave good enough alone"

Draco bestowed her with an amused look, "You're getting better at that. Maybe you should consider a second career"

"As a novelist?"

"Noo...What's the name of those people who talk over movie trailers?" he asked, and she gasped in faux annoyance.

"A voice over actor?!"

"That's it. Only, you should do the writing for them. No talking. No one wants to hear you talk more than you already do," he answered, crossing his legs, looking away from her with a smirk firmly planted on his lips. With a flick of her wand, a pile of paper wadded itself into balls and attacked the blonde, "HEY!"

She laughed then, full and heady, face open and light, wrapping her arms around her waist at his disgruntled expression, covered from head to toe in wadded up parchment. Rabastan chuckled as well, holding up his hand as the younger man opened his mouth to retaliate, "As much fun as listening to you two bicker is, we need a plan"

From the corner of his eye he saw Hermione straighten up, still smiling but closing back off. For a moment, he felt a small flicker of guilt in his gut, as if acknowledging she probably didn't do it enough. Just laugh for the sake of laughing. Allowing herself to have a moment of fun with no strings attached to it. And somewhere, a little piece of himself attached itself in kinship to that little lost piece of her.

"What do you need from me?" asked Draco, brushing the balled up parchment off himself and onto the floor, attempting to ignore the mess it made.

"Well, George is trying to help with figuring out where they came from. I figure two sets of eyes are better than one. And I'll need some help with portkeys," she answered. Draco wrinkled his nose.

"Sure, just some international portkeys. No problem," he bit back sarcastically, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Just one. For the return. We're going to use muggle transportation to get there," she clarified, and he raised an eyebrow.

"We?" he asked, and she glanced over at Rabastan before nodding.

"I'm taking Bast with me," she clarified, fidgeting a moment in her spot. Draco's lips twisted before he schooled his expression again.

"Shouldn't you take someone else with you instead?" he asked, the 'not a Death Eater' left out of the statement but clear in the room. She shook her head determinedly.

"He has as much of a vested interest in this as I do," she answered, and Draco blinked, looking back down at the photograph before understanding crossed his face.

"You think he's Roddy's," he answered. Hermione nodded, chewing on her lower lip.

"It's a theory," she hedged, and gray eyes pinned her on the spot.

"And the other theory?" he drawled, pulling a wince out of her.

"A gentleman by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle?" she replied, the answer more of a question than a statement. Draco stood suddenly, hovering over her, shaking his head vigorously.

"No. Absolutely not," he growled at her, and she stepped back, bumping into her desk in surprise.

"Draco, be reasonable," she argued, crossing her arms under her chest.

"Be reasonable? You're talking about the man who tried, and almost succeeded, in killing you!" he shouted at her. Hermione drew up tall, poking him in the chest with one finger.

"I am completely aware of whom I'm talking about. This, however, is not him. It's a child," she snapped. Draco threw his arms in the air.

"And a mask, and an arm. And do you really think it's a coincidence that both those pictures showed up at the same time?"

"No," Hermione and Rabastan responded in unison, and she turned to him in surprise.

"Clearly, someone has something planned," interjected Rabastan, lifting his hands placatingly, "But this kid... It could be family. It could be Roddy's, which would make it the next Lestrange heir"

"And if it isn't?" he seethed in return, and Hermione reached over to place a hand on his arm.

"Then we raise it to never know the word 'Mudblood'" she answered in a soft voice, impatience briefly crossing her face as he flinched at the derogatory term, "You of all people should know that the son is not the father"

Draco stood silently for a moment, hands shaking in the fists he'd curled them into at his sides, breathing heavily. Hermione reached up with her other hand to rub his arms soothingly until he leaned back, shoulders dropping, "I'll get you a portkey. But you don't leave until I know exactly where you're going, understood?"

She nodded in return, "Agreed"

"Ernie Macmillan has been working in Prague trying to find some of the displaced families. He might know something"

"I know Pansy traveled a lot, too. Think she might have any contacts?" she asked thoughtfully, and Draco nodded, haggard look on his face.

"She doesn't talk about it, but she does a lot of work with the orphanages. I can see if she might have heard of any magical children," he sighed, wrapping his arms around Hermione's shoulders and hugging her. She wound her own around his waist, standing in his embrace for a moment, before he stepped back, replacing his pureblood facade, "Don't do anything stupid, got it?"

"Never" she teased back, and he smiled faintly at her, tugging on a curl before turning to Rabastan.

"If you do anything to hurt her, I will remove you from all memory of existence" he threatened, and Rabastan nodded.

"You and the rest of the Granger army"

Ushering him to the door, Hermione bade the blonde heir goodbye before closing it and replacing some of the wards. Crossing back over to the desk she refilled their glasses from earlier with wine, sliding one over the desk to him. They stood in companionable silence for a moment, and she watched him speculatively as she sipped at her drink.

"Do you think we can do this?" she asked finally. He looked into his goblet, and sighed.

"Do I think we can find a child and bring it back here? Yes," he answered, "Do I think we can do it without killing each other? Probably not"

She snorted at him, shaking her head, "It would be you"

He raised an eyebrow at her, "Pardon?"

"I just...," she let out a small bit of hysterical laughter, "I'm surrounded by people I fought with, people who have reformed, people I trust every hour of every day... And for the most dangerous mission I've gone on in almost five years I'm stuck with the one person who's allegiances I can't guarantee"

"Well, it's not exactly my dream vacation either, Granger," he bit back, glaring at her, "An Auror who has a grudge against me isn't exactly my cup of tea either"

She blinked, "I don't have a grudge against you"

"I just spent four days taking cold showers that suggest otherwise"

"One," she answered mildly.

"What?"

"You said earlier it was one cold shower. And I don't hold grudges," she answered simply, placing her now empty goblet on the edge of the desk. Scowling at it's precarious position he pushed it further from the edge, ignoring her amused smirk at the action.

"I seem to recall hearing otherwise"

"I mean, I'd be stupid to forget if someone was an arse to me. But that doesn't mean I'm actively going to make their life a living hell," she shrugged.

"No, no. Just passively," he muttered back and she chuckled again.

"Look, I can pretend to like you for the duration if you can pretend to like me," she answered, holding her hand out. He looked down at it warily for a moment before reaching out to shake it. Her palm was warm and lightly calloused, grip firm without being strong.

"Deal," he answered, shaking her hand succinctly.

She smiled then, a tired expression, "I feel like there should be ominous thunder right about now"

He gave her a puzzled look at she shook her head, "Muggle thing. Maybe I'll get the chance to show you some day"

"What should we do now?" he asked and she shrugged.

"Now, we wait. If George and Draco can't uncover any dirt, no one can. We'll make plans when we get more information"

Exiting the office, Rabastan followed his thoughts back down the hall to the study. Pausing at the door, he watched his brother across the room as he played Wizard's chess with the other Auror in the house – Dean he recalled. The two chatted freely, laughing intermittently at something the other had said. Angst twisted inside of him, aware that their trip was going to completely change their lives once more.

Roddy was the only family he had left, and the only family that had ever really mattered. While their name had acted as a shield, his brother had been his physical guardian, his protector, his best friend. The idea that he was now planning on an expedition that could completely change his world, and perhaps not for the better, gnawed at his conscience with a vigor that he hadn't felt in years, and possibly even decades. Conscience was a luxury he hadn't been able to afford for a long time, and the sudden resurgence left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The halls that they'd grown up in had sheltered them from the real world, from realities that were unsavory and unfortunate. They'd allowed them to pledge allegiances to causes that would strip them of everything – life, future, land. They'd lost it all to the beliefs that now permanently scarred their arms. They'd allowed Roddy to be bound to a woman who spent most of her married life pining after a man who was only a piece of a human by the time he'd been slaughtered.

If he had only one regret, it was that he hadn't been a better brother. He knew he wouldn't have chosen a different path, that the imparted knowledge from their father would have led to the same choices and the same outcomes, but perhaps he could have softened some of the blows. He could have given Roddy a place to run to when Bella first started to drift away. He could have provided him with a stronger pillar of support when they'd been sentenced to Azkaban the first time. He could have found him a way out of the life he was now resigned to. His brother deserved better.

His feet steered him down and away from the study, unconsciously leading him past the kitchen and the dining room, into the ballroom. Dim light shifted amongst the hazy dust hanging in the air, and he ran his fingers along the furniture that was once again covered in white sheets. They slipped and sighed under his fingers, catching and then dropping again to dust the floor.

As a child, formal events were commonplace in his home. They were used as a way to highlight good breeding to the other members of the Sacred 28, other pureblood families. Reminders that they were more than those who had dirty blood, who came from no discernible background and infiltrated their world. A world with rules, and regulations and ways to do things. Every holiday was an opportunity for a celebration, and the events had been rotated between certain families of particular breeding. Roddy and Rabastan been allowed to join in the feasts in the early evening, but had always been sent away to their rooms as the night wore on.

In the space of a breath, he found white linen clouding his view, the sounds of laughter and violin music rising around him, and a small giggle catching in the back of his throat. Roddy's face, smaller, rounder, still pudgy with youth swam before his, pressing a finger to his lips. Leaning down, they peaked out from under the table cloth to watch patent leather shoes and decadent fabric pass them by.

Bast rubbed a hand down his own face, blinking to clear the memory from in front of his eyes. As they had gotten older, they'd attended the feasts and the dancing and had gotten into as much trouble as most young boys did. He'd stolen his first kiss, his first feel, lost his virginity on the night of one of their social events. This room was as much a part of his history as Hogwarts.

Lifting his hands to a formal dance position, he closed his eyes, humming gently under his breath as his feet carried him once more across the room, through steps of long hidden memories, reminding him again why he needed to keep fighting for their past and their future.


	23. Chapter 23

**_Holy crap...Did you guys know it's only 8 days until Christmas? How did this happen? Where did the year go? In seven days my house is going to be infiltrated by family expecting me to feed them. What the hell? They're going to starve. Anyhow, there will be updates between now and then, but if you get busy and aren't able to catch up for a bit, I wish you the Happiest of your preferred Holidays! And as always, thanks for reading and reviewing!_**

Rabastan felt like he was sitting on tenterhooks. Every time Hermione entered the room his whole world paused, waiting to see what she would say. Waiting to hear if she'd found anything out, made any plans, found any evidence about the origin of the child. His whole life revolving around the possibility of a Lestrange heir.

Contrarily, the curly haired witch appeared to be completely at ease. There was no evidence that anything life changing had occurred, that she was waiting for any information. She floated around the estate as if everything was exactly as it had been. There were no secret glances in his direction, no dropped hints as they walked around each other, no communication further than what was necessary or socially appropriate.

It was driving him spare.

He flung rocks with venomous force across the lawn, bouncing them off the ground. It was Thursday again, and as the afternoon grew long he knew it was only a matter of time before their home was overrun once more. The curious part, the part he didn't allow himself to explore very closely, was the fact that he actually really couldn't build an objection to the invasion. He chose to believe it was due to acclimatization rather than the small, miniscule, tiny little bitty speck of excitement rolling around in the back of his head.

He ignored the sounds of footsteps coming up behind him, refusing to acknowledge the cleared throat, choosing instead to pick up a large stone with his wand and throw it as hard as he could towards the wards. He was surprised to see it explode in mid-air, nowhere close the boundary lines he'd worked out over the past several hours. He set his mouth grimly, choosing a larger stone, flinging it just as hard. Once again, it disintegrated in mid-air, long before it hit the wards.

Growling, he turned sharply on his heel, wand still lifted in the air as he pinned Hermione with his eyes, "What?"

She pressed her lips into a thin line, "Every time something hits the wards, I feel it in my head"

"And that should bother me, why?" he ground back, skin itching irritably.

"Because it gives me a headache. And if I have a headache, it makes me decidedly less pleasant to be around," she snapped back, and he rolled his eyes.

"It's not like we've spent much time together since Tuesday, anyhow," he muttered and she snorted.

"That's what you're in a snit about?" she asked incredulously, and he glared at her darkly.

"No," came his petulant response, eyes narrowing further as he watched her attempt to cover up the amused smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

"So, you're out here throwing rocks at the wards just because it seemed like a fun thing to do at the time?" she asked him patiently, single eyebrow raised in his direction. He sighed, forcefully, lowering his wand back down.

"I am just blowing off some steam," he hedged. She nodded, lips still turned up.

"If it helps, I'm about ready to go spare myself," she answered, looking away from him. He let his shoulders sag.

"I'm not very good at being patient," he confessed, and then she did laugh at him. An honest, full, gentle noise that nudged at his pride in solidarity.

"You don't say?" she teased him, closing the gap between them.

"I suppose I should be," he answered, "But I just hate waiting to make things happen"

"Impulse control," she answered absently, "You all missed those formative years where that occurred"

"I'm not a psychology project, Granger," he snapped at her shortly and she raised an eyebrow at him before grimacing in chagrin.

"Sorry," she apologized, "My brain has a habit of talking whether or not I should sometimes"

"Impulse control," he snarked back at her, and she shrugged with a half grin.

"Probably," she confessed, sighing, "So, why do you like throwing things at the wards so much?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at the rocks below their feet, "Its more the levitation than anything"

She smiled at him, "Favorite spell?"

"It was the first one I mastered," he confided, "Not the first one I performed. But the first one I ever thought I truly controlled"

"Mine was Alohomora," she replied, "First time I ever really felt in control of anything"

He tilted his head at her, questioning look on his face, "In control?"

"Well, I mean, until I found out what I was there were just the incidences of strange things that happened. Lights mysteriously turning on, books magically disappearing and reappearing in my room, things that vanished. And you know, as a kid, parents lock doors to keep you out of things," she answered, "When I learned the spell if was the first time I ever felt like I could control not only my magic, but where I could go, too"

"And then just 12 short years later you find yourself here, running a reformatory for dark wizards," he replied dryly and she chuckled.

"Yes, well, you of all people should know that life doesn't turn out exactly how we expect" she answered mildly, small frown twisting at her mouth. He felt his own lips pressing into a straight line, and he turned away from her.

"No, no. My life turned out exactly how I had planned," he drawled and she chuckled next to him.

"Oh, mine too. I was speaking in the abstract sense. As in those poor pleebs out there who have no control over their own lives and don't plan down to every last detail"

He snorted, glancing back over his shoulder at her. She had a guarded look on her face, but her eyes were soft as she took him in. There was the first chill of fall in the air, and her cheeks were flushed under the wild flag of her curls. He cleared his throat, "So, I don't suppose you've heard anything from Draco or George?"

"Actually, George said he'd have some information for us this evening," she replied, and he turned back to look at her squarely.

"Tonight?" he clarified breathlessly. She nodded.

"He said he'd bring it with him. We'll just have to find a moment to escape when everyone else is otherwise occupied," she confirmed.

"Otherwise occupied with what?" came the clear voice over her shoulder, and Rabastan jumped in surprise. Hermione turned her own head, glancing over her shoulder at their new visitor.

"Occupied with destroying the manor, of course," she replied guardedly. Antonin nodded warily, drawing up even with them.

"Of course," he nodded agreeably, tilting his head at the two of them, "And why would we need to be occupied?"

"So I can sneak away with Bast and ravish him," she answered, teasing tone in her voice. Antonin snorted.

"There are any number of willing participants for that venture, Hermione," he replied, "Not everything needs to be a challenge"

"Who says I wouldn't be willing?" barbered Rabastan. Hermione and Antonin exchanged a look, before favoring him with twin speculative expressions, "Mother of merlin, you were right"

"I was right?" asked Antonin, and Hermione shook her head next to him.

"No, I was right," she chuckled, and Rabastan nodded.

"About what?" frowned the Russian man and Hermione shook her head.

"I told Rabastan you and I were as alike as we are different," she explained, bumping her shoulder against the other man's upper arm. He favored her with a warm expression, reaching down to squeeze one of her hands for a moment before releasing her. Hermione's cheeks glowed a brighter pink, and she cleared her throat once more.

"If you two would excuse me, I need to get some stuff ready in the house. Rabastan, I would appreciate it if you would stop contributing to my headache"

Antonin moved next to the shorter man as they watched her pick her way back to the house, hands rubbing against her arms. As she faded from view he turned back towards Rabastan, favoring the man with the same speculative look that he had a moment before, "You're terrible at keeping secrets, you know that?"

Rabastan shrugged, "Out of practice"

Antonin snorted again, "You were never that good at it before, either"

Rabastan chose not to answer, choosing instead to levitate foliage, flicking it back and forth with his wand before dropping it again. He'd been quite clever as a child, and performed well in school, with Charms being his favorite subject. He'd lacked the patience for potions, though he could turn out an adequate brew when needed. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes bored him to tears, and while transfiguration was interesting it lacked the opportunity for creativity and precision that charms did. Precisely controlling a spell, exactly how it occurred and what it did and how it was countered was perhaps the antithesis of his easily diverted personality, but it was one of the few times he felt completely in control. It was a feeling he relished.

"So, you're not going to tell me?" came the quiet demand. Rabastan shrugged, making sure he was looking away from the older man.

"Nothing to tell," he responded quietly. Antonin gave a grunt of impatience, before he picked up a rock with his fingers, throwing it to collide accurately with the driftwood hovering in the air. Rabastan grinned, picking up a new piece, moving it about as Antonin threw rock after rock, hitting his mark each time. As he swung the driftwood up out of the way of the final rock, the Russian sighed in irritation.

"That's cheating," he grumbled, and Rabastan shrugged.

"Says who?"

"The laws of international magic usage. They clearly state in games of squibs versus wizards, wizards must not use their powers to cheat at the last moment," he conjured flawlessly, eyes glinting in amusement.

Rabastan laughed, "You should stick to honesty, it suits you better"

"As should you," Antonin retorted, crossing his arms back over his chest. Rabastan sighed.

"Really, it's nothing," he fibbed again, rubbing his left wrist unconsciously. Antonin pointed at it irritably.

"That's your biggest tell," he grumbled and Rabastan looked down in surprise.

"It's a habit," he confessed, and the bigger man nodded.

"I know. But it gives you away every time. When was the last time it actually ached you, anyhow?" he pushed. Rabastan shook his head.

"I can't recall. I feel twinges, sometimes, but nothing," he sighed, "Nothing strong for a long time"

Antonin nodded, "As it should be"

Rabastan rocked onto his heels before chancing a look at Antonin, "If you could, would you go back?"

The Russian tilted his head to one side, rubbing his jaw, "There's no point in reliving the past"

"I'm not saying, if you could go back would you do it again. We all would have. There was no choice, even if we pretended there was," he replied, "If the opportunity arose again, now, would you take it?"

Antonin shook his head in a harsh negative, "Never"

Rabastan gave him a cold smile, "Of course. Because of her"

The Russian's expression closed off, "No. Not because of Hermione"

He furrowed his brow, "Then why not?"

"Because I refuse to be bound by any man, ever again. I will live with my actions for the rest of my life, and I have found peace with the ones I performed because I felt I had no other option," he answered, "But what I did because I was ordered to do so, I will never forget"

"And what of the ones you performed because you felt it was the right thing to do?"

"I must accept that perhaps what I believed was right at the time, and what was truly right are not the same thing," he replied hollowly.

"What do you think is truly right, then?" he asked sharply, wounded pride surging inside once more. It galled to think that he'd been wrong about anything, much less the one code that he'd built his life around.

"I don't know that I have an answer for that," came the Russian's honest response, and Rabastan tamped down his desire to shout in frustration, "I think that what we believed as children wasn't wrong, but that it came from the mouth of those who lacked worldly experience"

"And what would that have to do with anything?" he snapped back, bitterly. Antonin bestowed him with a thoughtful look.

"Growing up in Russia, we were not a wealthy family. Of course, at that time, no one was wealthy in Russia except for the few who chose to take it for themselves. As pureblood families we had our lineage, but it didn't come with titles or lands or money. It was just the pride of knowing that we had magic," he answered. Rabastan shifted, tilting his head to one side as he regarded the other man, "I learned how to be good with knives because we butchered our own livestock. I was five the first time my father taught me to butcher a lamb and dress it"

"Did I ever tell you my mother was a devout Christian?" he asked, pinning Rabastan with his dark gaze, and he shook his head mutely, "She was. Went to the Orthodox church daily to help as she could. My mother, she believed our magic was a gift from God to help those in need. But, religion has it's own darkness and anything unknown is thought of as being from the devil. So, in spite of her good deeds, there was an uprising of muggles against our village when I was 8, and my family fled. We barely escaped with our lives. There were many children and families that didn't make it. My father was angry, and in turn that made me angry. We were afraid of losing our families to people who would attack us with what I believed was no provocation"

"England was a land of great promise, but so cut off from the experience of life where you have nothing. I spent my whole first year at Hogwarts trying not to punch Lucius in the face when he complained about someone not turning down his bed at night," Rabastan snorted in laughter, and Antonin gave him a half smile before continuing, "The people who made the rules about blood purity came from that same place of privilege. They judged others who came in to their community, and decided they were unworthy, even scary. Something to be exterminated"

"As a child, I was afraid because of what I had experienced, and it made sense to me to protect our homeland. As an adult, I wonder – how were we any different from those who believed my mother was spawned from the devil?"

Rabastan froze in place, swallowing hard at the question. The Russian smiled gently before clapping him on the shoulder, "I think that if you look at it from both sides, there are some views that will never find common ground. The question that I can't answer is if those small differences are enough to wage war over"

Antonin left him at that, trudging back to the house, leaving Rabastan alone to peek at the covered alcoves of his mind once more.


	24. Chapter 24

It was in the after dinner bustle of people moving from the dining room to the ballroom, and migrating elsewhere within the house that Hermione caught his eye across the hallway and beckoned with a tip of her head. Making his excuses to Marcus, he slipped off, catching up with her as she reached the main stairwell. They glanced at each other briefly, and she bestowed him with a small, mischievous grin as the trotted up the steps together.

Checking over her shoulder to make sure they hadn't been followed, she leaned towards him, "Draco owled me last night letting me know he has the portkey and some leads. He's meeting us as well"

As he turned to respond, an arm reached out from a window alcove, dragging Hermione in with a squeak. Rabastan swore, shaking his wand loose from it's holster around his wrist, yanking the brocade curtain back and pointing it at the man who had grabbed her. Hermione was pressed between him and the wall, hands flat against his chest as he snogged her thoroughly, his own hands framing her face. Rabastan grasped the man's collar, hauling him backwards and jabbing his wand at his pulse point while clearing his throat.

"Excuse you," snapped the younger man, hands in the air by his head. Dark skinned, light eyes, Rabastan released him as he recognized him as the man from Hermione's room the previous week.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't hex you right now" he snapped back, grabbing Hermione, and pulling her back into the hallway next to him with another squeak.

"Bast, stop. Blaise, you're an idiot," she snapped, shoving her way between them. Rabastan paused, looking down at her flashing eyes.

"I thought I might be able to entice you off somewhere," the dark skinned man responded, and Hermione sighed.

"And grabbing me in the middle of the hallway was the best way to ask?" she bit back, shaking her head at him, "I've got some business to deal with"

Blaise made to take a step towards her, but Rabastan's wand was back at his carotid before he could finish the movement, "She said no"

"Bast!" Hermione hissed, "It's fine. Blaise, I live in a heavily fortified house with three convicts and one extra Auror on duty at all times. Reconsider your proposition strategies"

A vaguely hurt look crossed his face before he covered it up, nodding, "Will I see you later?"

She chewed her lip for a moment before nodding her head succinctly, "I'll find you in a bit"

Mollified, he nodded in return before scowling at Rabastan and leaving the opposite way down the stairs. Rabastan leveled her with an appraising look and she shook her head, waving a hand at him, "Don't"

"Don't what?" he returned, smirking at the blush that was creeping up her chest and onto her cheeks.

"No comments," she pleaded, and he grabbed her hand, tucking it through the crook of his elbow before continuing their trek down the hall.

"If you didn't want comments, you shouldn't make your dalliances public knowledge," he answered in a teasingly proper tone.

"Ugh, dalliance is such a dated word," she groaned next to him, and he chuckled.

"And what word would you use?" he asked.

"Mistake. Mistake I just keep on making," she answered firmly and he patted her hand.

"You know the definition of insanity?" he asked, nodding at the redhead he saw outside her office door.

"Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results" she answered miserably, "I'd be willing to bet Einstein never had multiple orgasms"

Rabastan paused, looking down at her before bursting into laughter, "Yes, I suppose that would make it more appealing"

"I mean, don't get me wrong. Blaise is a decent guy, but I think we both accept that our relationship is more about what's between the sheets than any sort of future," she answered, wry smile on her lips as they reached George. The redhead pulled a face.

"Still?" he asked, and Hermione shrugged.

"Multiple orgasms," confirmed Rabastan, and George gave him a surprised look before laughing as well.

"Can't argue with that logic," he answered before producing a thick yellow envelope from his coat pocket. Hermione opened it , allowing the contents to slip towards her had. Three burgandy booklets peeked out from the edge, along with several brightly colored muggle money notes and some coins. She nodded, before flipping it back closed and tucking it under her arm, gesturing that they enter the office.

"What do I owe you, George?" she asked as they stepped inside. He shook his head in the negative.

"Nothing, you know that," he answered, smiling at her, "Being able to make some muggle passports was payment enough"

"And they work?" she confirmed.

He nodded, "Verity tried one out the other day. Worked perfectly, can't tell it apart"

"That's good, because you're going to need all the help you can get," came an unfamiliar voice from across the room. Rabastan's head shot up, noticing the other two men in the room for the first time. A tall, elegantly dressed black man was seated in her chair, feet casually propped up on the corner of her desk. Behind him, close to the fireplace stood Draco, vaguely guilty look on his face.

"Traitor" she hissed at the blonde before addressing the other man, "Kingsley. So good to see you"

"Don't get angry at Draco. He's the only one with enough sense to contact me about this madness," drawled the black man, dropping his feet to the ground and standing in one fluid motion.

"It doesn't really concern you, Kingsley," came her tight response, and Rabastan raised his eyebrows in surprise at her.

"Let me be the judge of that," he countered, coming around the desk and standing directly in front them. Dark chocolate eyes regarded him coolly as he looked Rabastan up and down, face emotionless, "Rabastan Lestrange, yes?"

"That's correct," he drawled back in a bored tone, crossing his arms over his chest defensively, "And you are?"

There was a small flicker of amusement over the other man's features before he raised his hand, "Kingsley Shacklebolt, former Head Auror"

"And current Minister for Magic," supplied Draco. Rabastan paused a moment before taking the taller man's hand and shaking it.

"I wish I could say it's a pleasure, but I have a feeling that won't be the case," he answered. A wide grin split Kingsley's face and he shrugged.

"Perceptive"

"Alright, everyone's measured everyone else's dicks and Kingsley still comes out on top," came Hermione's irritable reply from next to him. The black man laughed, a rich sound as he turned to her, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

"Another mistake?" asked Rabastan, smirking at the petite woman. She glowered at him in return.

"Kingsley and I worked together quite a bit during the war. No mistakes were ever made," she confirmed, hard glint in her eyes that warned him to drop it.

"So, tell me about these photographs," interjected Kingsley, and Hermione sighed, glaring at Draco once more.

"I tried, Hermione," the blonde apologized, "But some of the intel I got made me think we'd need more help than just George"

She nodded, shoulders slumping, "Two pictures. Draco had them last. One of a child, one the Dark Mark and a mask"

"And based on that you were, what, going to run across the world to find this child and bring it back?" the Minister asked patiently. She shrugged.

"What else should I do?" she asked. Kingsley sighed, running a hand up the back of his close shorn head.

"I don't know, bring it to your boss? Bring it to me? Talk about the likelihood of you walking into a trap where you get kidnapped and possibly killed?"

"First off, you are the Minister. You're no longer the Head Auror," she pointed out, "And secondly, so far as we know the child is Roddy's and is hardly a national problem"

"Or it could be Voldemort's and it could absolutely be a national problem. And anything having to do with the Dark Mark has to be taken seriously. You know this, Hermione," he answered firmly. She rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm trying to keep it quiet until we know more. I hardly need my charges getting all riled up over a few pictures and some conjecture," she bit back. Kingsley folded his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at her.

"So what's your plan, then?" he asked and she shook her head.

"That's what we were deciding on today. I needed passports from George, and possible stop points from both of them," she answered, jerking her head towards the blonde and redhead.

"And then, what?" he asked.

"Book some flights, travel to wherever the child might be, confirm parentage and bring him back," she answered and Kingsley sighed, this time rubbing his jaw.

"And what of that Dark Mark?" he asked.

"Clearly, they're somehow related. But the child's picture was addressed to Roddy and the Mark to Antonin. I don't think they're planning on trapping anyone, I think it's a way to communicate. Let them know sympathizers are still out there" she answered. The black man nodded.

"And what if you encounter some?" he countered and she glanced up at Rabastan, small smile on her lips.

"I have my own decoy with me," she replied, wryly. Kingsley frowned, looking Rabastan over once more.

"I think you're confused about what a decoy is," he responded coolly. Hermione huffed.

"Temporary decoy? We've already talked about it," she responded, waving her hand dismissively at him. Kingsley groaned.

"That doesn't assuage my concerns," he replied, and Rabastan cleared his throat.

"So far as well know, that child is family. I will do whatever it takes to get him into custody," he confirmed.

"That also doesn't make me feel any better," answered Kingsley and Hermione sighed.

"I have to have someone with Lestrange blood to complete the parentage spell. If I go alone, it will look suspicious. And you know why I can't tell Harry or Ron. They'll tell the wrong people and that poor kid's life will be in even more danger"

Kingsley let out a long, controlled breath, and Rabastan noted the tension in his shoulders as if he was trying not to yell at the muggleborn, "And if you go running off and get yourself killed it will be a disaster of international proportions"

"Then it's probably good that I don't plan on getting myself killed," she quipped back, tone velvet backed with steel, a warning.

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, neither giving an inch. Finally, Kingsley gave a barely perceptible nod, looking over his shoulder at Draco, "What did you find, Malfoy?"

"Little pieces of information here and there. No good information on origin of the pictures, though Pansy and Ernie had some agreement on rumors regarding magical orphans. One in France, one in the Czech republic and one in Norway. Pansy is getting me addresses for the orphanages. Of course, this is assuming the kid is even being raised as an orphan," he grumbled, before raising a hand, "And before you ask, no. I cannot secure pictures of the children at those locations for privacy purposes. Even throwing the Ministry's name behind it, they won't release them because they are not of age. You will actually have to go visit them"

"The mark, however, is more convoluted. Prior to his demise, Voldemort was attempting to... expand his influence outside of Britain. He sent some followers to attempt to infiltrate and recruit new acolytes elsewhere. Not surprisingly, he focused more on some of the northern and eastern European countries where the lines between light and dark are a little less defined than they are here," continued the younger man.

"Well, that coincides well with the locator spells I used," supplied George, pulling out another set of papers from his pocket. They turned to look at him as he unfolded the parchment, "The letters were routed through a couple stops before they arrived here. The one to Rodolphus originated in Brussels, but was sent to Oslo, and then Galway before ending up here. The one for Antonin also originated in Brussels, but traveled to Lyon, then Zurich, followed by Lisbon and then to here"

"So there must be a faction in Brussels," summarized Hermione, pursing her lips as she took in the information.

"At least," responded Draco, "And likely in the Czech republic and Norway"

"Why not France?" asked Rabastan, watching as Hermione and Kingsley exchanged looks.

"In the roundups after the war, France was raided extensively with full cooperation of their government. They were afraid of similar zealotry reaching their own shores, with good reason. A few small Death Eater sympathizer camps had established near the English channel. From Britain, France was the next best entryway into mainland Europe," explained Hermione and he frowned.

"But they could always go through Belgium or The Netherlands," he argued and Draco shook his head.

"Belgium, yes, but the Netherlands closed it's magical borders. They refused to take in any visitors or refugees when hostilities started ramping up. There was no travel allowed into, out of, or through Holland for magical persons for the better part of a decade. They've only recently started allowing very restricted access"

"And Belgium was very cooperative as well. We suspected that many of those who fled were trying to get to Switzerland or Romania, but they would have to travel through France or Germany to get there and the German government is quite familiar with dealing with the fall out from tyrants," continued Hermione with a shrug, "If Death Eaters were found, they were either turned over without question or died of 'mysterious causes'"

"So, either they either managed to hide until they got to Switzerland or eastern Europe, or they fled North," concluded George, "Which makes sense. Durmstrang is rumored to be in Norway or Sweden"

"Switzerland I get. Why Romania?" Rabastan asked.

Hermione sighed, "After Hogwarts and before becoming a royal twat, Voldemort took a typical gap year to travel. What little we can glean from some old diaries and second hand conversations, he spent a significant amount of time in Romania near the Black Sea. Most of what happened there is conjecture, as he was always paranoid and didn't write much of it down, but there is some suspicion that's where he gained much of his considerable power and dark arsenal"

"You think that's where he gained the idea for the Dark Mark," concluded Rabastan, and she nodded, mouth a thin, grim line.

"From what we can tell, no one wore the Mark before he went there," supplied Kingsley and Draco nodded.

"My Father tells me that my grandfather never bore the dark mark, but he himself was made to take it when he became of age. I suspect, some of those who went to school with Voldemort never branded themselves"

"There is a significant chance that he has supporters there," added Kingsley, "And while the Romanian government hasn't interfered with our search, they haven't been helpful either"

"So we avoid Brussels and Romania, stick to the areas that are less likely to harbor sympathizers," suggested Rabastan, shrugging his shoulders, "Shouldn't be too hard"

"The intelligence I could uncover suggests several groups that are loosely cooperative and organized. No central hub, but they communicate with each other regularly," said Draco, rubbing his left wrist unconsciously.

"Any idea of numbers?" asked Kingsley, and Draco shook his head.

"They are incredibly secretive, with good reason. This is literally the only concrete evidence we've had in several years. We suspect a few families that fled are involved, but can't say for sure"

Hermione huffed again, "Look, I don't want to find Death Eaters. I want to find a child and bring him home. Any intelligence we pick up along the way we'll pass back to you, but so far as I'm concerned this is a retrieval mission"

Kingsley nodded, rubbing his jaw contemplatively, "You're going to need a good cover story. Something that the others won't question and won't give your plan away"

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing the Minister for Magic is on my side, isn't it?" she asked, beaming a smile in his direction. The older man chuckled, shaking his head.

"When do you think you can leave?" he asked and she shrugged, glancing back over at Rabastan.

"Tomorrow, if you can make it happen," she replied. Kingsley nodded, leaning back against the desk.

"I can come up with something by tomorrow evening. You keep this as quiet as possible, and don't go looking for trouble," he warned her sternly, "Visit the orphanages, return if you don't find anything. I'll put word out through the international enforcement agencies to keep an eye on you"

She nodded succinctly, holding out her hand, "We have a deal"

Kingsley shook it with a little chuckle, before looking over at Rabastan, hard glint in his eye. Rabastan raised his hand in front of his chest, palm out, shaking his head.

"I know, death, murder, mayhem if even a curl is harmed on her head," he supplied and the dark skinned man laughed.

"That's just what she'll do to you," chimed in Draco, and George laughed darkly as well.

"If you need anything, Hermione, just call me," said Kingsley as he stood again, walking around the desk and leaving via floo. Draco leaned down to kiss her cheek before parting as well.

"Better get packed," she said, looking up at Rabastan, "It's going to be a long couple of days"

He nodded, turning to leave the room, watching as George beckoned her over and pointed to the back of one of the letters. His last glimpse before the office door closed was her suspicious gaze peering at him over the top of the unfolded paper.


	25. Chapter 25

_**Merry Christmas all! Or, Merry whatever Holiday you celebrate! I hope you all have a peaceful holiday season and propserous New Year!**_

Breakfast consisted of hangover potions, bedraggled visitors emerging from every corner of the manor, and the rather muted announcement by Granger that she would be going out of town for a while. It was, perhaps, for the best because given their current states no one created much of an argument.

In the late morning she tracked Rabastan down in his room, knocking on the door frame for permission to enter. He waved her in and she joined him at the closet, laughing as she took in his wardrobe.

"Oh my god, I think you have more clothes than I do, Bast," she teased, reaching out to rub the sleeve of one of his shirts between her fingers, "And they're nicer, too"

"It's not my fault you haven't taken advantage of our vaults to buy new clothes," he scoffed back at her before grabbing two more shirts and tossing them onto the bed with the rest of his pile of clothing. She winced a little and shrugged.

"It doesn't feel right," she replied, "I don't mind using it to take care of Roddy and the others, but if I spend the money on myself it feels like I'm stealing"

"As I understand it, legally, the laws making the money yours are airtight. That money IS yours," he replied grimly, and she made a face.

"Maybe," she turned to look at the pile of clothing on his bed, "Good grief, Bast. How long do you think we're going to be gone?"

"It's always good to be prepared," he countered, grabbing some pairs of socks, "Besides, September in Norway can get quite cool"

"Yes, but five jumpers? Don't you have a coat?" she asked, mild amusement in her tone. Rabastan scowled at her.

"Did you have a purpose for coming in here or were you just planning on critiquing my style choices?" he snapped at her, eyes narrowing as she giggled at him.

"Sorry, sorry. I just wanted to let you know we have the all clear from Kingsley. We'll head to my flat in London tonight, and tomorrow we're flying out to Norway," she replied, attempting and failing to school the smile off her face.

"Flying?" he clarified, and she nodded.

"As in a big, silver plane in the sky," she confirmed and he wrinkled his nose.

"Is that safe?"

"At least as safe as apparating, or walking through a fireplace, or using a mystical piece of trash to go from one place to another. Takes longer, though," she shrugged and he frowned.

"But I'm in control of those things," he countered and she stopped trying to hide her smile.

"Well, now you're just going to have to trust the muggles to get us there," she answered, expression far to smug for having made that statement.

"You're cruel," he leveled back at her, and she grinned more fully.

"I mean, I can't say the idea of you strapped into a machine completely controlled by muggles doesn't make me a little giddy with justice. But, I do have to ride next to you for the duration, so I'm trying to control that emotion for now," she shrugged loosely again, smile still planted on her lips. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"What time?" he asked pointedly.

"Be ready to leave at 6 pm. We'll floo there from the foyer. Don't want you to get lost along the way," she teased gently, before leaving him alone once more. Sucking a breath in and letting it slowly exit through his nose, he looked at his pile of clothes again before cursing under his breath. Ignoring the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like a curly haired witch he knew needling him about what he was choosing, he folded his selections and put them into a cloth trunk she'd provided him with.

"You and Hermione, eh?" came the voice from his doorway, and he jumped, looking up at his brother's hazel eyes. He nodded, gesturing for Rodolphus to enter.

"She got some intel on some death eaters over seas. Wanted a second set of eyes," he replied, allowing half the truth to cover up the lies as he turned back to the trunk, mentally running a checklist of what he would need.

"Hm," came the unconvinced reply, "Hermione's generally based in England, working on cases at home"

Rabastan shrugged lightly, "Then maybe she's trying to lure me away to kill me"

"Maybe," came the tight reply and Rabastan looked back over at his brother, eyebrows raised.

"If you're going to warn me off from hurting her, you're about three people too late," he snarked, and his brother's expression darkened.

"Then let me be the fourth," he replied, "I love you Bast, but I swear to Merlin if she dies and I end up back in Azkaban I will break out just to kick your arse"

Rabastan sighed again, shaking his head, "She will not die, and you will not end up back in Azkaban. And if she does, and you do, I will break you out myself so you can kick my arse"

Rodolphus chuckled then, harsh lines falling away from his face, "Bast...I just. I wanted to apologize"

Rabastan shook his head, waving his hand, "I know. Fit of anger. I've said worse"

Rodolphus shook his head as well, "No. It was because I was angry, but it was out of line. I never should have said it. You are my brother. You are my family. You're the only blood related family I have left. We need to stick together if we're going to survive"

Rabastan nodded, ignoring the burning at the corners of his eyes, before he reached out to clasp Roddy's wrist, tugging him forward into a solid but brief embrace, "I know. I'm struggling, Roddy. I don't know where I fit in all of this. I don't know who I am, and if I even belong here anymore. But you... You are the most important person to me"

The words slipped out like a confession, and he watched them register on his brother's face, his own eyes becoming glassy. A sad, small smile played across his lips as he nodded, "We'll get our second chances"

As the afternoon rolled into the evening he felt himself become restless, watching the clock on the wall every few minutes until it crept, ever slower to six. As the hands finally settled at the top and bottom of the face, he felt tension knot his shoulders even as he let out a breath of relief. Shrinking his bag down, he slipped it into his pocket and jogged down to the foyer where Hermione was awaiting him. Her own expression was strained, but she reached out a hand for him as he entered. He looked around, surprised to see the room was empty save the two of them.

"Everyone stopped by to say their goodbyes already," she said, correctly interpreting the action. He nodded, a tight bobbing motion as he moved closer, placing his palm into hers, "Ready?"

He nodded mutely, and she tugged him into the fireplace, calling out her address as they stepped through together. The room they stepped into on the other side was cozy, though not cramped, and the cool, dark interior spoke of infrequent use. It was clean, but too organized, with none of the homey touches that would indicate regular residence. Next to him, Hermione brushed off her shoulders before turning to look at him with a crooked smile.

"Welcome to my home away from home," she greeted shyly, stepping into the living area. The room was longer than it was wide, and adorned with a simple couch and bookshelves lining the walls. At the far end was a half wall opening into a small kitchen, and a hallway leading off to the rest of the flat. He followed her as she lead him down the hall towards the two rooms.

"I sometimes entertain muggles here," she confessed, "So I haven't been able to expand the interior. Plus, it's a in a muggle building, so magic is fairly strictly controlled. There are two bedrooms down here, and two bathrooms. I'll take the smaller room tonight"

He glanced into the rooms, noting what should be the master had two beds and the guest room had only one. The bathrooms were relatively simple – one was a full bath, the other a half bath, and neither had any magical enchantments or embellishments. She gestured at the larger bedroom and he entered, removing his trunk and placing it on the bed closest to the door. The walls were a stark white, devoid of art or pictures. He turned to give her a curious look and she shrugged.

"Ron and Harry stay here with me sometimes. But, most of my muggle pictures were either destroyed when we were hiding or are at the manor. And I spend so little time here, I just haven't gotten around to decorating," she replied, face a little pink at her acknowledgment. He nodded mutely, and she tipped her head back in the direction they'd come, "Come on, let's go out and get some food"

He followed her back out into the hallway, pausing as she approached the front door, "Out as in out?" he clarified. A mildly amused smirk curled at her mouth.

"Well, I certainly don't have any food here," she teased him, reaching for the knob.

"We're going into muggle London, to get food?" he clarified and she bobbed her head at him.

"Yes," she answered, "I could go for some curry, actually"

"Curry?" he asked, nose wrinkling at the word.

"Do you not like curry?" she asked, lips suddenly pressing downwards.

"I can't say I've ever had it," he shrugged and she huffed.

"You told me you spent time in muggle London in the 70s. Are you telling me in all that time you never tried curry?" she demanded, propping her hands on her hips. He shook his head and shrugged again.

"I guess not?"

"Ugh. How you can you be British and not have had curry? My faith in your prowess around muggles is suddenly lacking," she retorted, turning back to yank the door open.

"Well, before the gruel, there was a lot of home cooked, English meals," he pointed out, stepping into the narrow hallway behind her.

"That's no excuse. Curry is a staple. You have been denied a tradition for your entire life, because you have been stuck behind a magical wall," she retorted, shaking her head as she locked the door behind them, muttering something that sounded an awful lot like "unconscionable".

Turning back towards him, she threaded her around his, locking her elbow at his own, and tugging her with him down the hall, "I take it there's no talking you out of this venture?"

She shook her head smartly, curls bouncing against her shoulders, "No. You, Rabastan Lestrange, are trying curry"

As they wandered back up the street from the little shop they'd stopped at for a meal, he tipped his head to one side, conceding that curry was, in fact, delicious. She jumped next to him, pumping a fist in the air enthusiastically.

"SEE? I told you. And can you imagine? You've gone how many years without trying it?" she demanded bossily. He swallowed, counting backwards.

"Thirty seven?" he surmised, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he looked up at the sky, trying to remember exactly what year he'd been born. She froze on the sidewalk, staring at him for a moment.

"You're thirty seven?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"I think so," he answered, "I'm not sure I remember when I was born"

She shook her head, "But you spent 17 years in Azkaban"

A shiver ran down his spine as the number settled in his bones, and he nodded, "I did"

She sighed, tucking a hand through his arm once more, guiding him through the throngs of people, "I am impressed you're as sane as you are"

He favored her with an amused grin, "I am an excellent actor"

She snorted at him, "No you're not. You're a terrible liar"

He grumbled, trying to yank his arm away from her, but she wound tighter like an octopus, "I am not that bad"

She giggled a little, "Sore spot?"

He sighed, "Apparently I've lost my touch over the past 17 years"

She tugged him into the building entrance for her flat, and up to the second floor. Stopping in front of the second door on the right, she pulled out her keys and unlocked it, "I suspect you were never all that great. You would never have made it as a spy"

As he followed her into the flat, a noise to their left caught his attention and he grabbed her arm, yanking her back against his side, shaking his wand loose of it's holster. She made a noise of protest, but he hushed her, tilting his head towards the living room. There was a soft rustle again, the sound of fabric on fabric, before the clinking of glassware. He shoved her bodily behind him, reaching for the door to get them both out.

"Bast," she said softly, amusement in her tone, "It's alright"

He turned his head to look down at her, tilting his neck at an awkward angle due to her proximity. She was smiling gently at him, eyes warm and glowing in the dim light of the hall, and she reached up to place a calming hand on his shoulder, "You know who's here?"

She nodded, ducking around him as she meandered down the hallway towards to living room, calling out, "You making tea?"

Antonin's dark head popped out from around the door frame, and he gave Rabastan a cold smile at the surprised look on his face, "Getting it started"

Confusion replaced shock, and as he followed her in to the living room, he noted a fire had been started and the larger man moved with a fluid familiarity around her kitchen, "You've been here before"

Hermione gave him a mildly chagrined look, confessing "Antonin's fireplace connects to my apartment here"

He blinked at her, "His...He...You have two unregistered floos in your house?"

She shrugged and nodded, "I do sometimes have to come here to do business, or just escape. I felt guilty about leaving Antonin locked up, so I attached his fireplace to my flat. The apartment is warded so he can't leave it, but..." she trailed off.

Antonin smiled fondly at her, grabbing her coat as she removed it and placing it on a coat hanger in the corner of the room. She settled onto the couch, gesturing to Rabastan to sit wherever he chose. He hung up his own coat, before sitting into a chair across from her, "I take it no one is aware of this"

She nodded in confirmation, "Just Antonin and I, and now you"

The Russian place a glass of tea in front of her before turning to him with and inquisitive look. Rabastan nodded, "Just a drop of milk, please," before he pinioned her with a glare, "You are a woman with a lot of secrets"

Hermione snorted inelegantly, "It comes with the territory"

Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his left ankle over his right knee before he turned an accusatory look at Antonin, "You were here last weekend"

A small, secretive smirk scrolled over the older man's features for just a brief moment as he handed the glass to him. He nodded, "I was"

"You knew about the tattoo"

This time the smile couldn't be contained, "I did"

"And it didn't occur to you to stop that madness?" he demanded. Hermione laughed and Antonin chuckled.

"Let's not get confused here, Bast. No one, save my boss on the right occasions, tells me what I can or cannot do," she answered firmly. He eyed her carefully, shaking his head.

"The two of you are nothing but trouble"

Hermione glanced over at Antonin, smirking as he favored her with a similar expression, "I think we can both live with that"

"So, this is who the third passport was for," Rabastan confirmed, and Hermione raised an appreciative eyebrow at his attention to detail.

"Yes. Since we don't know how long we'll be, I decided it would be better to have him join us than be allowed to dangle free for the duration"

"Besides," answered Antonin, "I was sent on some trips for the Dark Lord during the second war. I might recognize places or people"

"Does anyone else know he's coming?"

"Outside of George? No. I wouldn't touch that conversation with Kingsley with a ten foot pole," she muttered, shaking her head.

"So, when do we leave in the morning?" he asked, sipping on his tea. Hermione yawned, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth before answering.

"Flight leaves at 10. We'll need to leave here around 8 to get through security and customs in time," she answered.

"Customs?" Rabastan asked, and she waved her hand.

"Kind of like international port key control. They make sure we're British, and safe to travel," she confirmed, before placing her cup down on the coffee table, "Just be ready to go at 8. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get some sleep"

Rabastan stared at Antonin as he watched the witch leave the room, "And you say nothing has happened between you two?"

Antonin snorted, "I didn't say that. I said nothing will happen"

Rabastan sighed, placing his own cup down, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. Before he could ask another question, however, Antonin shook his head sharply at him.

"Just get some rest, Bast. Morning will be here soon"


	26. Chapter 26

_**Sorry for the long delay in updates. Holidays were crazy and then I got some news that is really going to change my life in about... 9 months from now ;) Anyhow, this chapter was more written for fun. It doesn't really further the plot, or create any sudden revelations, it was more of a "oh, what would happen if?" moment. I hope you enjoy it anyhow :)**_

"Rabastan, take off your fucking shoes," hissed the voice behind him. He let out a noise of protest, swinging around to face the vibrating nest of curls seething openly at him.

Since their arrival at the colossal glass building, he'd felt completely out of his element as she'd dragged him through the check in process. Even more insulting was the fact that Antonin seemed to know exactly what was going on, and was able to keep up with her at every step. From waiting in an interminable line, to being forced to leave his luggage on a conveyor belt with an unknown person, to waiting in ANOTHER long line he was reaching the end of his patience. It didn't help that he was now being told to strip, and go through a questionable metal device that had blinking lights and an unfriendly looking man on the other side.

"Why?" he snapped back, and she sighed, slipping off her own jacket and toeing off her own shoes.

"It's required by the airlines to fly," she replied, "Security measures"

"But why my shoes?" he growled, removing his own jacket and copying her movements of placing it on the conveyor. Glancing around she looked at the uniformed personnel in the vicinity before dropping her voice just low enough he could hear it.

"About 3 years ago a group of men hijacked planes in the United States and flew them into some high profile buildings," she whispered, removing her necklace and gesturing at him to do the same with his cufflinks, "Six months later, another man got onto a plane and tried to blow it up using a bomb in his shoes. Since then, everyone has been required to remove their shoes for inspection prior to boarding"

Rabastan furrowed his brows, "What's a bomb?"

Both Hermione and Antonin shushed him, and she shoved him towards the metal arch, "Shut up! Just take off your shoes and go through the detector and I'll explain more when we get to our gate"

He grumbled again, untying his oxfords before dropping them into the box that Hermione impatiently shoved in his direction. As he stepped forward towards the arch, she called out behind him, "I need an exception, please"

A tall, dark man converged on her and Antonin while Rabastan was waved through the arch. He flinched as he ducked through the passage, pausing on the other side in surprise that there was no sensation adjoining the effort. The man whom had waved him through gave him an odd look before pointing towards the other half of the conveyor belt. Stepping off to the side, he turned uncertainly towards his traveling companions, watching as Hermione explained the need for Antonin to continue wearing his "medical safety" bracelet and be searched separately instead of walking through the same archway he'd just traversed.

"Ah, sir?" came a light tenor to his left, and he jerked his head around, meeting the speculative look of a portly, uniformed man across the conveyor from him. He furrowed his brows in return.

"Yes?"

"Is this yours?" the man asked, holding up his peacoat in a gloved hand. Rabastan nodded sharply.

"Yes, it is," he answered, reaching for the garment, "Thank you"

"Um, I'm going to have to ask you to follow me," came the uncertain response. Rabastan drew up tall.

"Excuse me?" he demanded, and the agent took a step back.

"We found a suspicious item in one of your pockets," came the wavering voice. Rabastan wrinkled his nose.

"What suspicious item?" came the light voice from his right shoulder, and he turned, surprised to see Hermione next to him again.

"A piece of wood, about 12 inches long, some carvings on it," was the response, and she let out a withering sigh before turning to glare at Rabastan.

"Can I please see it?" she asked, "This is my charge here. He's...well, he spent a lot of time hospitalized"

The agent's eyes widened and he nodded, "Of course, Miss. Give me just a moment"

As the man stepped away, she turned accusing eyes at him, growling under her breath, "Really, Bast? Your wand? What did you think you were going to need it for?"

He snorted at her, "You never know when you might need your wand"

"Except we're in the middle of a muggle airport, surrounded by non-magical persons, getting ready to board a flight. This is the least likely area to need a wand, ever" she muttered back at him, before smiling at the agent as he returned.

In his gloved fingers was the slender, pale length of wood, dangling as if it were poisonous to the touch. He heard Hermione groan under her breath before nodding at him.

"Unfortunately, that's a delicate piece of craftwork my charge has been working on. I told him to leave it in his luggage, but..." she made an motion with her fingers towards her head, "...his comprehension sometimes...well, it suffers a bit. And he can be obsessive"

The man bestowed Rabastan with a pitying look, nodding, "I see"

"You are, of course, welcome to run some diagnostics on it if you wish, but it's harmless," she answered, giving him a beguiling smile. His chubby cheeks reddened a bit and he swallowed.

"We've already checked it for explosive powder, Miss, but protocol says we need to check the inside as well," he answered.

Rabastan made a strangled noise, and Hermione straightened sharply, a slightly too loud, "No!" slipping out of her lips. The agent paused, his own brows furrowing as he looked back and forth between the two of them suspiciously. She took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before she replied in her same previously controlled tone, "I mean, if you break it, my charge is going to have a complete meltdown. Screaming, crying, possibly destroying things. And then there's going to be police involved, and you're going to have to explain why the line is so far backed and why people are missing their flights. And neither one of us wants that, do we?"

Rabastan glanced down curiously, noting her fingers twitching in a rhythmic pattern on her right hand. Cocking his head to the side, he looked back up at the agent across from them, noting his expression had gone blank as he shook his head in the negative. Hermione smiled, holding out her left hand palm up, and the man reached the coat and wand over to her, placing them in her grasp, "Of course not, here you go"

"Oh, thank you so much, Sir. I so appreciate your assistance today!" she exclaimed, before shoving the items into Rabastan's hands, and pushing him towards the main corridor where Antonin was waiting with the rest of their stuff.

As he grabbed his shoes from the Russian, and sat down to put them back on, he glanced over at Hermione appraisingly, "Confounding the muggle? Now, isn't that breaking the law?"

She glared back at him, "First off, I am an Auror, and therefore I am the law. Secondly, I wouldn't have had to use it if you hadn't have put your wand in your damn jacket"

"How was I to know that it wasn't allowed?" he grumbled back, and she turned at him, face completely astounded.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I told you, specifically this morning, 'Bast, make sure you put your wand in your luggage and not your jacket'", she snapped back, standing up again.

"Well, fine, but you didn't tell me WHY I needed to put it in my luggage," he answered, tying his shoes. Hermione closed her eyes, pressing her fingers at the bridge of her nose.

"Bast, for the sake of surviving this trip, let's just assume when it comes to means of muggle transportation, I'm always right and you just need to do what I tell you to," she replied evenly, Antonin chuckling softly behind her.

"Fine," he griped, standing up and slipping his jacket on again.

"Good," she answered, before looking at Antonin, "Do you know which gate we're at?"

He nodded, pointing to the left, "This way. We have to take a train to the next terminal"

Hermione nodded and strode out ahead of them, weaving through the throngs of travellers as Rabastan pulled up next to Antonin, "And how do you know how to navigate all of this?"

The older man glanced at him, small smile on his face, "When the Dark Lord sent me abroad to do some reconnaissance and see if he could get some support, I traveled this way. Easier to avoid detection"

"I see," came his clipped answer, and Antonin bumped him with his shoulder.

"We also traveled the muggle way when I was younger. My father was paranoid after what had happened in Russia, and wanted to draw as little attention to us as possible. Even if we stayed in wizarding locations, we took muggle means to get there"

Rabastan nodded mutely, following the Russian and Hermione as they guided him through the large building to a train station and managed to stuff him onboard just in time to avoid departure. Settling into seats on the sparsely occupied carriage, he looked back at Hermione, "So, explain to me. What, exactly, is a bomb?"

Hermione sighed, glancing around them briefly as she ran a hand through her hair, "It's an incendiary device designed to create widespread destruction"

"So, it just sets fire to things?" he clarified and she winced.

"Not exactly. It is usually a compact container filled with explosives – things that catch on fire – and may also contain things like shrapnel or chemical compounds. The simplistic description is that it's set on fire, causing it to build up with heat and energy before literally blowing apart. The strength of the explosion varies based on the size and type of bomb," she replied, twisting her fingers in the hem of her coat.

"So, one could potentially use one on a plane to damage it?" he asked and she nodded.

"One could. Or destroy a car or a building. Atom bombs can destroy an entire city and all the people within it," she answered softly, and Rabastan paled.

"It can?" he asked, looking up at Antonin who nodded in confirmation.

"It can. Muggles are not without their own methods of defending themselves," he answered, and Rabastan swallowed.

"Like guns," he replied.

"Like guns," confirmed Hermione, chestnut eyes settled on his own, "Muggles may not have wands, but they are smart enough to create ways of not needing them"

The train slid to a stop, and the three rose, exiting in silence. Antonin tilted his head to the left, leading the way back across the terminal to another gate. Hermione sighed at the sight of the line, turning to Rabastan, "The boarding process has started. When we get up to the entrance just give them your ticket. We'll find our seats when we get on. I splurged for first class seats, so we won't be crammed like sardines for the flight"

"Sardines?" he asked and Hermione groaned again.

"Tiny little fish in a can," she answered, shaking her head, "They're packed tightly together, thus the expression"

"Why would anyone put sardines in a can?" asked Rabastan, and she bestowed him with a bemused smirk.

"To eat, actually," she answered and he made a face.

"You eat fish out of a can?" he answered incredulously.

"Amazingly, the whole world doesn't have access to fresh fish on a whim. So, yes, some people eat tiny fish out of a can and even like it," she replied teasingly. He mock gagged as they drew up to the front of the line, "Honestly, Bast, you haven't even tried them. How can you say you don't like them?"

He wrinkled his nose as he copied her, handing the piece of stock paper in his hand to the agent, taking it back after it was scanned, "Fish and can don't exactly go together"

"It's not so bad," rumbled Antonin from behind him, "Salty, but it keeps you alive"

Rabastan hummed as Hermione led them down the gangplank, and through the door into the aircraft. Pausing inside, he looked around the cabin for the first time. It was larger than he expected, and taller, with ample room for him to walk down the aisle. The seats were somewhat cramped in size, but there was enough room he would be able to stretch his legs out in front of himself if he became uncomfortable. The air was stale, though he could hear it moving through a forced air system around him, and he shuffled in his spot for a moment, the confined space causing pricks of fear to trickle down his spine.

A firm hand landed on his shoulder, and he glanced back at Antonin who nodded at him. He swallowed, before stepping fully in, catching up with Hermione at a row of 2 seats. She slid into the seat closest to the window, gesturing at the chair next to her for him. He tugged the edges of his coat around his waist before settling gracefully into the seat she pointed at. As he wiggled experimentally in the chair, she smiled at him, pointing at the small nylon belts on either side.

"Seat belt. Put the rounded end into the slot on the other one, like this," she demonstrated, "And then just pull it tight"

"So, how long are we in this contraption?" he asked and she shrugged.

"I think flight time is like 2 hours," she answered, pushing up the shade on the window. He cleared his throat, nodding before he wiped his hands on his legs, "I have a calming draught in my pocket if you need one"

He shook his head, glancing at Antonin seated across the aisle from him. The Russian man looked surprisingly completely comfortable, already perusing a magazine as the final passengers boarded, "No, I'll be fine"

"Are you sure?" she confirmed, "This can be pretty overwhelming to someone who's never done it before"

"If muggles can do it, I can do it," he countered and she snorted.

"Your funeral"

"I'll be fine," he insisted and she shook her head.

"Here," she said, smirk back on her face as she dropped a book into his lap, "I brought this along to keep you entertained during the flight"

He frowned, looking down at the title, "Beginner's Guide to Genetics?"

"Hmmm," she replied, "I figured you could use some light reading"

There was a thump, and a buzzing noise as a uniformed woman ahead of them closed the door to the plane, latching it firmly as the last passenger meandered down the aisle. Rabastan swallowed hard, fingers drumming anxiously against his thigh as he looked about the cabin, noting the other passengers settling into their seats. None of them seemed particularly concerned, but then again they didn't seem to be aware that they were in a tin can that was expected to carry them somehow through the air safely either.

Granger was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, posture relaxed. He fidgeted again, looking up as the flight attendant walked past him, giving him a small wink as she passed by. He glanced back over at Antonin who was now watching him, a curious look on his face. Drumming his fingers on his thigh again, he twisted back towards Hermione who was holding out a blue vial in his direction.

"Just drink it, Bast. Because if you keep fidgeting I'm going to kill you," she muttered at him, eyes still closed. He plucked it out of her fingers, tossing it back in a single gulp before handing the vial back to her, "Good. Now, just try to relax. We'll be there soon enough"

Leaning back into his seat as the warm, soothing feeling settled into his bones, he opened the book in his lap to the first chapter, brain soft and fuzzy even as the plane jerked backwards away from the gate.


	27. Chapter 27

_**Thank you all for your**_ well _ **wishes! Yes, we are expecting a baby in September. My goal is to get all WIPs wrapped up by then. That means finish Levitate, and The Eagle and the Lion (only on AO3 at this time). If I can finish them up I might work on the next big project, but that's a big if at this point. At any rate, I should be getting back on track with Levitate soon - just not a lot of free time to myself lately.**_

 _ **Also, just in case it isn't completely obvious, I am not a Norweigian history buff. I make things up and try to make them make sense in context of this story, and used a lot of wikipedia. Hopefully, you can offer a little grace for any mistakes I make ;) Thanks for joining me on this ride!**_

Disregarding the somewhat bumpy landing in Oslo, the flight to Norway was otherwise unremarkable. After disembarking, clearing through customs, managing to find their way back through the airport and gathering their luggage, the three found themselves looking for transportation to their next stop. Hermione seemed to know where to go as she guided them to a kiosk on the lower level, speaking with one of the men at the counter about renting a vehicle.

Rabastan glanced at the brochures, picking one up that touted the different classes of vehicles offered. He frowned as he read the descriptions, unsure what most of it meant. Antonin chuckled next to him, "Planning on learning to drive?"

Rabastan scowled back, "I'm just interested in what muggles do without brooms and the ability to transport themselves instantly"

"Miss Granger?"

The two men stiffened at the sound of the newcomer next to them, and Hermione swiveled sharply to face the gentleman. He was staggeringly tall and blonde, with a full but neatly trimmed beard, and sharp blue eyes. His brow crinkled as he took them in, but the expression was replaced with a smile as she reached out a hand, "And you are?"

"Erik Nilsen. Draco sent me to gather you," he introduced himself before turning to shake the hands of the other two men.

"Ah. I see. He failed to mention that we were to meet you," she replied stiffly, right hand resting on her hip, fingers loosely above the pocket.

The giant of a man laughed, nodding, "He mentioned that. He also told me I should tell you he's a giant prat, and he's very sorry, and he hopes my presence will make up for a little of his indiscretion"

Hermione's stance relaxed minutely, and she nodded, "That sounds like Draco. Did he give you something for me?"

The blonde man's eyes narrowed, and his lips turned into a shrewd smirk before he passed a trinket to her, "He did"

She turned the piece of silver over in her hand before passing off to Antonin. The older man glanced at it and nodded as well, slipping it into his own pocket. Hermione gave a genuine smile then, "Well, Mr. Nilsen, lead on"

As he guided them out of the building, Rabstan lingered next to Antonin giving him a questioning look. The darker man reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of silver, passing it over. It was a round button, with the picture of a dragon stamped onto it. He frowned before passing it back over.

"It's a measure of truth," answered Antonin, "They all have them. If there's a question about loyalty or authenticity, they just have to pass one over. The trinkets are only made when needed, and are designed to destroy themselves within 24 hours of creation"

Rabastan raised an eyebrow, "But can't the stamps just be copied?"

Antonin shrugged, "In theory. So far as I can gather, each person rotates through a series of stamps, so it never looks the same twice"

"That seems complicated," admitted Rabastan and Antonin nodded.

Outside was mid-sized silver van, the side door propped open. Erik grabbed Hermione's bag to her protest, and pointed towards the vehicle. She frowned, but ducked inside, sitting in the passenger side front seat. Rabastan rolled his own bag to the back of the vehicle before following Antonin inside as well. Once the luggage was loaded, Erik clambered in the driver's seat and took off.

"Where are you taking us?" asked Rabastan. Blue eyes regarded him from the little mirror up front.

"Well, first I have to take you to Parliament. But then, we'll get settled into your hotel here and I'll show you around our lovely Oslo," he answered. Hermione groaned.

"We were trying NOT to get noticed here," she grumbled and Erik grinned at her.

"It's just a brief check in. Need to know basis only," he assured her, and Antonin made a disbelieving grunt.

"Somehow, need to know always ends up as everyone knows," muttered Hermione and Rabastan nodded in response. Erik shrugged from his seat.

"Maybe in Britain, but here secrecy is absolute. The only people who will know about your visit are myself and the Princess," he replied seriously.

"The princess?" asked Hermione, twisting to face him in her seat as he navigated the roads.

"Yes. Princess Martha is head of the Norwegian Parliament of Magic. Queen Sonja is a witch," he replied, answering their questioning looks, "The Monarchy has a long history of marrying magical persons and non-magical persons into their folds to keep a foot in each world. The Queen was head of Parliament until Martha took over two years ago. Haakon, the Prince, is non-magical and next in line for the throne. He's expected to marry a witch to help the odds of producing magical offspring"

"That seems a bit overkill," answered Rabastan, frowning a little, "The royal family controls both magical and non-magical interests in the country?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that," confessed Erik, "And hard to explain. Norway has been a wild land for much of history. The monsters that our ancestors fought were not only figurative, but literal and magic is not so secretive here. When Norway unified in 872 it was solidified by the inclusion of the magical world, which allowed all inhabitants to develop a unified front against the Trolls. Unfortunately, the unification under one king didn't last long but the persons in the land continued to work together. The Trolls were finally brought to heel in 1050, with much help from the the magical inhabitants of Norway. The lady king, Margaret I, was actually a witch though her son Olav was non-magical. It gets a little ugly from there, but when the current lineage was re-established, it became standard that all non-magical rulers would marry someone of magical background to ensure that the treaty between both worlds remained in tact, and the Trolls remained in their controlled regions"

"Are there many trolls now?" asked Hermione, and Erik shrugged.

"We send treaty parties every year, and every year we are denied. We don't have an exact count, but rumor is numbers are dwindling," he answered. She hummed in response before leaning back against her seat.

"Where is the Magical Parliament of Norway housed?" asked Rabastan curiously. Erik grinned toothily at him.

"Well, the same as the British Ministry, I suspect. Hidden in plain sight," he answered, pointing out the front window of the vehicle. Narrowing his eyes, Rabastan took in the buildings before them.

"Akerhaus Fortress?" gasped Hermione, and the blond man chuckled as he nodded.

"When the royal family set up a home in Oslo, they decided it would be best to bring the seat of magical power close to home as well. As the city was already established, it was difficult to find a home that wouldn't draw much attention. So, they decided to go with a place that draws so much attention, anything odd would be overlooked. Afterall, tourists can be quite peculiar," he winked at them. Hermione laughed in delight.

"What a brilliantly simple idea," she responded, peering up at the medieval buildings before them. Erik brought the vehicle around to a side road, turning in as a gate appeared before them and allowed them into a tunnel under the main building of the castle. As the gates closed behind them, Erik turned off the vehicle and gestured to the sparsely lit room.

"We're here. When we exit, follow me. We'll head up to the Princess's office," he explained, before exiting the vehicle.

The quarters they had arrived in were dark, damp, and covered in stone, and the three visitors stuck close to one another as the followed the viking up the stairs. A simple, dark wood door was at the top, and Erik peeked his head through before opening it fully and encouraging them out into the main corridor. The hallway was long, lined with wooden panel flooring, with warm stone walls and lit by modern candlebras. He hurried them down the passageway until he turned sharply to his right, opening a door that hadn't been there a moment before. Gesturing once more, the four entered the small room before he closed the door firmly behind them.

Hermione gasped, and Rabastan's eyes raised in appreciation at the magic in the room. Clearly enlarged, it was an open room, with large, cheerful windows that allowed sun to stream across the floor, lighting up playful patterns in the brightly colored mossaic tiles underneath them. Paintings, magical in nature, lined the white washed walls with portraits peering at the three visitors curiously. In the center of the room was a simple desk, with a modernly dressed woman standing behind it, smiling at them.

"Welcome to Norway," she greeted them, stepping around the desk to come meet them face to face. Hermione folded both her hands around the other woman's, grasping it warmly.

"Thank you for allowing us to come," she answered, smiling genuinely back at the older woman.

Princess Martha was a lovely woman, tall, with honey brown hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones and fair skin. She bore a kind countenance, but her posture spoke of underlying strength. Rabastan returned her smile as he shook her hand as well, turning it over to place a kiss on the back before releasing it. She gave him an appraising look before she turned to Antonin, extending her hand to him as well.

"I understand you are here seeking a child," she probed, and Hermione nodded.

"We are. I am sure you have been given some of the details?" she asked. The princess turned her gaze to the shorter woman, eyes sharpening as she nodded tightly.

"I have. We have several orphanages here in Norway that fit the description of what you are looking for, however, only two are reported to have magical children," she answered. Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully.

"I'd heard there was only one child," she answered finally, and the Princess tipped her head at her.

"We are fairly certain of one child's parentage. The other, however, reportedly was dropped off about four years ago in the night. He was left on the steps. No history besides that," she confirmed, and Hermione frowned.

"And you know he is magical?" she confirmed. Martha nodded.

"Bouts of accidental magic, and one our local witches did a test on him. Nothing harmful, just a small spell to test his magical core. He is a wizard," she replied. Hermione nodded.

"That sounds promising, though I suppose we should check both just to be sure," she answered and the Princess nodded approvingly.

"As I expected you would. Erik has the locations of both Orphanages. He will take you to them, starting tomorrow. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the sights of Oslo for the evening. It's a lovely city," she responded. Hermione tipped her head respectfully to the older woman.

"Thank you, I look forward to it. It's been a real honor to meet you," she replied, and the Princess smiled genuinely once more.

"As it is mine. It's not every day you get to meet a war herione," she teased back gently, and Hermione chuckled as her cheeks turned pink. Martha turned to the two men, addressing Hermione once more as she said, "Now, please, go let Erik bore you with some more history while I speak with your traveling partners"

Hermione graced the two men with a wicked grin before she scurried back over to their tall escort, asking him a myriad of questions about the fortress. Martha watched her leave hearing range before she waved the two men over, "Now, I know of the two of you as well"

Antonin nodded at her, countenance serious as he answered, "I assure you, we will be on our best behavior"

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she looked him over, "And I can promise you, I have eyes and ears all over this city. Don't forget that we are not so secretive about magic here, and the fae of Norway won't hesitate to make you disappear"

Rabastan raised his eyebrows, "Duly noted"

Martha looked at him then, blue eyes piercing his own, "I also know that you have some interesting ideas about blood status. We had some spies in Britain during the war, and your face and name were quite well known. We do not share those same views here in Norway"

Rabastan cleared his throat, shifting on his feet uncomfortably, "Will all due respect, I'm just here to help find a child"

"Mister Lestrange, I am well aware of why you are here. I wish to make it clear that if I find you have done anything else, you will have me to answer to. I am half blood. My mother was half blood. For longer than your family can count it's lineage, my family has been half bloods and successfully held not only this seat but power over all of Norway. Do you believe the magical northerners you have encountered in the past have been less powerful than yourself?"

Rabastan shook his head, "No"

Her eyes narrowed further, "Regardless of what Bjorn Rowle claimed, we are all mixed blood here. We do not come from any one line that is more powerful than another. Thorfinn is a Berserker, is he not?"

Antonin nodded next to him, and Rabastan blanched, turning to the Russian for confirmation, "A Berserker?"

Antonin shrugged, "He wasn't identified and registered until after the war"

"Berserkers are powerful warriors, and wizards. They are only of mixed blood. A pureblood wizard cannot be a Berserker, and neither can a pure human," interjected Martha, and Rabastan nodded, swallowing once more, "Should I hear of your views on...purity spreading around my country, I will introduce you to one or two Berserkers I know personally"

"Understood," answered Rabastan, nodding his head respectfully at the woman. In an instant her face cleared and she smiled once more. Reaching forward she kissed each man on the cheek.

"Wonderful. Welcome to Norway, gentlemen. I hope it exceeds your expectations," she dismissed them. Antonin gave her a partial bow before grabbing Rabastan by the arm and steering him back towards the door.

"That woman scares me," muttered Rabastan, needing no further encouragement. Antonin nodded.

"Me too" he answered, "Though, I didn't know about Berserkers. Did you?"

Antonin shook his head, "No. I had always wondered why they came only from the North, but I hadn't gotten much further in intellectual pursuits on that matter before..."

Rabastan hummed in agreement as they drew up with Erik and Hermione. She jumped and turned as they arrived, clapping her hands together, "Are you hungry? Because next we get a cruise and lunch on the Fjord!"


	28. Chapter 28

The morning was crisp, cool with the vestiges of fall crawling along the mild breeze that swept along the street, curling under the sides of his coat and licking at his skin. He shivered, drawing the edges closer to himself as he strode the few blocks to the cafe name they'd left for him. Pushing open the door, the smell of warm bread and coffee hung in the air, inviting him into the cozy dining room.

He could see Hermione at a table across the floor, face flushed as she threw her head back and laughed, hands wrapped around a white mug. Across from her he could make out the flaxen head of their guide, hands gesticulating in the air as he imparted whatever story was making her laugh with absolute abandon. A small smile lingered across his own lips, a slip of jealousy winding around his heart and releasing at the absence of worry in her expression. It was one of the few times he'd thought he'd ever see her so relaxed.

He wound through the tables, giving an apologetic wave as his hip bumped into a chair. He could tell the moment she noticed him, her shoulders tightening, mouth becoming stiffer, but she greeted him with a smile and a wave, gesturing him into the chair next to her, "Rabastan"

He nodded at her, "Granger"

The blonde man regarded him quietly for a moment, before bestowing an easy grin of his own, "Good morning, Lestrange. I hope the Inn treated you well"

He shrugged, shaking his napkin loose before placing it on his lap, "The Inn was divine. Antonin's snoring could use some silencing charms"

Hermione snorted next to him, pausing with a fork full of eggs half way to her mouth, "That's the truth. For someone so gifted at intelligence gathering, he could bring down the house with his snoring"

Rabastan raised an eyebrow at her, "And you would know this how?"

She rolled her eyes stuffing the food into her mouth, chewing and swallowing before she answered, "Antonin was barely alive when he first arrived at the Manor. I spent the better part of the first month sleeping in his room, making sure he made it through the night. The healthier he was, the less sleep I got"

Rabastan and Erik shared an amused look, bursting into laughter as Hermione frowned at them from around another bite of her breakfast, "What?"

"So, you say Antonin keeps you up at night?" teased Erik. Hermione's cheeks burned bright red, and she squeaked in protest.

"That's not what I meant!" she exclaimed, and the two men laughed again. Groaning, she threw her fork on the table, crossing her arms, muttering "Incorrigible"

Rabastan backed down first, glancing over at the blonde, "So, where do our travels take us today?"

Erik smiled again, a broad expression that took up his whole face, "We are travelling to Lillehammer. It's about 2 ½ hours north of here. It's where the first orphanage is"

"Lillehammer?" queried Hermione, her tone one that Rabastan identified with her perpetually enthusiastic academic tendencies. Erik nodded, tilting his head to one side.

"Yes. We'll be staying in the town tonight, and then tomorrow we'll head north to Bergen," he replied, leaving out the understanding that they'd only continue on if it was necessary. Hermione fidgeted in her seat.

"What is it you want to see in Lillehammer?" asked Rabastan, smiling briefly at the waitress that placed a cup of coffee in front of him. Hermione graced him with a slightly embarrassed look.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked, shoulders drooping. He shrugged and smiled back at her.

"Only to people who know you," he answered, pausing briefly in his reach for the milk as her eyebrows shot up. A small smile played around her lips and she pushed the craft towards him with her fingertips as she took another sip of her own coffee.

"I suppose we have spent a fair amount of time together," she conceded. He blinked at her, milk hovering over his own cup as he tipped his head to the side, absorbing his own words. Unconsciously, his lips curved upwards and he nodded shortly at her.

"More time that I would have expected," he answered. Hermione ducked her head down, glancing at her half emptied plate, and Rabastan actively avoided looking at her or their other guest.

"Well?" came the voice to his left, "What was it you wanted to see?"

She fidgeted in her seat again before sighing, "I'd heard about petroglyphs on the cliffs above a bridge near Lillehammer"

He nodded, leaning back in his seat as he stroked his beard, "Yes. The rock carvings in Drotten. Unfortunately, it's a bit out of the way for us"

She sighed again, shoulders slumping, "I see"

"I'm sorry, Hermione. If I could make it happen, I would. But we're on a tight schedule," he replied, remorse in his voice. She nodded, small smile on her lips.

"I know, Erik, I understand. I'll just have to come back sometime when I can actually visit," she answered. Rabastan felt his spine stiffen, the unspoken understanding that it might be years before she'd have a chance to leave her charges in England again settling over the group. Erik reached across the table, patting her arm encouragingly.

"And when you do, I'll take you all over this beautiful country to show you every last bit of it," he answered, voice warm and gentle. She smile brightly back at him.

"I look forward to it"

Erik chattered on enthusiastically about Norway and it's history as they finished their breakfast, Antonin finally joining them in time to shovel some bread and cheese down his throat before they took off once more. The sun was bright, but already the fine changes of shortening days showed in the quickly shifting shadows as they loaded into the car and headed north.

Beautiful vistas full of sprawling hills, and farmland, dotted with trees and broken up with bustling towns and small cities followed them on their path, enticing romantic sighs from the passenger seat up front. Erik continued to entertain them with stories of the surrounding counties and incidences of accidental magic that had popped up over the years. As the journey wore on, they found themselves traveling next to a large body of water – identified as lake Mjosa – that was as wide as the eye could see.

"This was one of the areas heavily populated by Trolls before the accords we reached," reported Erik, and Hermione sat up in her seat, peering interestedly out the window.

"Do they commonly live by bodies of water?"

Erik nodded, "They seem to favor it, for reasons unidentified. Trolls are a largely secretive group, and they don't particularly like to be studied. Still mostly feral and excellent trackers, more than one anthropologist has been sent back barely breathing"

Hermione hummed, falling back into her seat once more as they continued on their drive. As the morning turned into afternoon, they entered a large town, which the blonde introduced as Lillehammer. After a short drive further, they pulled into the parking lot of a modest hotel, and exited the vehicle.

"We'll check in first," explained Erik, "And then go to the orphanage. It's just a short walk from here"

As had been the way in the previous hotel, Rabastan was set up in a room with Antonin and Hermione given her own lodging. Stepping back out onto the street, he bounced briefly on his toes, nervousness coursing more steadily through him now.

"Anxious?" asked the soft voice at his shoulder and he looked down into furrowed chestnut eyes.

"Aren't you?" he questioned and she bobbed her head affirmatively.

"It seems so...climactic and yet not. What if this is the child? And what if this child is Roddy's?" she asked, voicing the thoughts buzzing in his own head.

"What if it is the child but it's NOT Roddy?" he returned, airing the one question they'd been avoiding. He felt her shift, and shrug.

"I'm not sure what that means," she confessed and he nodded back.

"I don't either"

"Ready?" came the boisterous voice from behind them, and they both jumped, bumping into each other in surprise. Rabastan grabbed her elbow reflexively as she lost her balance, steadying her as they glared at their amused escort.

"Yes," answered Hermione, nodding sharply, "Of course"

Antonin slipped in next to Hermione as they followed the blonde down the street, leaning his shoulder subtly against her in a show of support. She ignored him, though Rabastan could see her sway against him minutely as they closed in on a large, institutional appearing building. It was tall, with white walls, and a gabled roof. There were windows dotting the walls, small faces pressed against them to observe the strangers visiting for once. Pausing outside, Erik turned back to them, "They know we're coming, but not exactly who you are. I will explain the situation, and they'll bring the child to us. I suspect he won't speak much English"

He lead them through the doors into a utilitarian lobby, adorned with a few leather backed chairs and a small desk in front. The Brits lingered, milling around the room as Erik spoke with the woman who greeted them. After a short, hushed conversation, she disappeared through a side door, leaving the companions alone once more.

"She's bringing the head of the program, and the child. They want him to have an advocate present," explained Erik, and Hermione and Rabastan nodded.

"Of course. It's only safe for him," she replied. Erik nodded, turning to look at a tapestry lining the wall behind the desk.

Rabastan found himself migrating back towards the witch, staring blankly at the same map she was staring at, his skin itching under his coat. Next to him, he felt her fidget with him, shifting from foot to foot, pretending to focus on anything other than who was coming out of the door next. He flexed his fingers and straightened them again, bouncing up on his toes before rocking back on his heels.

The feeling of fingers sliding down the palm of his left hand shocked him into stillness, and he looked down, watching entranced as she laced her digits with his own. He blinked, before looking back up into her face, comforting smile on tightened lips. She squeezed his hand with her own, and he looked back down at their joined grasp, sucking in a sharp breath. It had been years since anyone had held his hand, years and lifetimes since they'd done so in an effort to calm him. He couldn't recall the last person who'd held his hand for simple solidarity. Rodolphus perhaps? His mother? A friend?

Closing his eyes, he willed the memory to come to the surface, but it evaded him, slippery as an eel around the edges of his mind. Letting out a slow breath to relieve his frustration, he allowed his own fingers to tighten for the length of a heartbeat around hers before releasing them again.

The sound of the door opening again hit him like a hammer, and he disentangled himself urgently as his eyes flew back open. Entering the room was a tall, brunette with cool blue eyes and a commanding bearing who stared at them as if they were prey and she the eagle deciding which to pick off first. He took a step to the side, slightly behind Hermione as if offering her for first pickings. The small witch huffed at him, clearly aware of his intentions before drawing her own self up tall and reaching out a hand.

"Hermione Granger," she announced, stepping forward to meet the woman, "Thank you for meeting with us today"

The handshake was as brisk and utilitarian as everything else in the institution, with a returned "Freyja Gundersen. Thank you for making the journey"

"I understand Erik has explained the situation?" pressed Hermione, and the woman nodded briskly.

"He has. The child is young, and he speaks limited English. Based on description I am not convinced he is who you are looking for, but I suppose it is only fair to meet him," she replied.

"Please, we'd like to meet him," implored Rabastan. The matron looked at him sharply and nodded, turning back to the door she'd just gone through. At a minute gesture, a young boy walked through, staring wide eyed at the adults in front of him.

Rabastan could feel Hermione let out a breath, even as his own shoulders deflated. Dark blonde curls, light blue eyes and distinctly Scandanavian features gave away that he was not the child from the picture. He held his hands together nervously in front of his waist, linking his fingers and rocking back and forth.

Hermione broke rank first, stepping forward and kneeling in front of the boy. Smiling gently, she brushed his hair back from his forehead, "Hello there, it's nice to meet you"

A smile broke out along the boy's face and he flung his arms around her neck, nuzzling his nose into the crook as he babbled against her skin. She froze for a moment, before curling her arms around him, lifting him up into her embrace as she walked away from the other adults. Her eyes met Rabastan's, a pleading expression as she carried the child into a vacant corner.

The younger brother watched her disentangle the child's hands from her hair, talking to him animatedly before he turned back to the head matron, shaking his head, "I'm so sorry"

She nodded succinctly at him, "It's alright. I'd suspected as much. He's a magical child, but we believe his roots are from a local family that died some years ago. Never knew what happened to them, but they found the boy in a crib on his own"

Rabastan turned back to Hermione, now joined by Antonin, as they interacted with the child. Antonin's expression carried a softness he'd never attributed to the Russian before, and his movements were gentle, subtle, easy around the child. The boy reached up to tug on the older man's beard, and he watched in surprise as he laughed at the action.

Hermione caught his eye again and he nodded at her affirmatively. She sighed and nodded back, appreciation in her eyes as she carried the boy back over to the matron. Gently she deposited the boy into the other woman's arms, before ruffling his hair once more. Crestfallen, the child frowned, but wrapped his arms around the matron's neck, resting his head on her shoulder.

"It's not you, darling," cooed Hermione, "I'll try to come back and visit you again"

Rabastan reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing as he steered her back and away, "Thank you Ms. Gundersen for your help"

"Of course. And good luck in your travels"

Stepping out into the street again, Hermione's shoulders sagged and she leaned against the wall outside the door for a moment, "That was awful"

Rabastan nodded in agreement, shoving his hands into his pockets, "It was"

Taking in a shaky breath, she looked up, unshed tears glistening at the corners of her eyes, "I don't know how many times I can do that"

He reached over, grabbing her elbow and tugging her towards him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he tugged her against his side, rubbing her back with his free hand, "Hopefully we'll find him at the next stop"

She nodded against his shoulder, "Hopefully"

Antonin cleared his voice behind them, "I think now is a good time for a drink, don't you?"


	29. Chapter 29

_**Thanks for all the encouragement and lovely reviews! I'm glad you all are on this emotional ride with me. We've still got a few more days in Norway :)**_

It was late by the time they stumbled their way out of the first bar they'd come to. Not so late that it would be indecent, but late enough that it was now dark when it had been solidly mid-day when they had arrived. Not many words had been shared, but he would be lying if he didn't say he was impressed at how many drinks he'd seen Hermione down in a relatively short amount of time.

From there, the memories had blurred into drinks, food, and mumbled conversations that mostly centered around anything that didn't include children or orphanages or prison or anything else that reminded them of who they were and why they were there. Erik had left them after only an hour, claiming "government duty called", and Rabastan was highly suspicious he hadn't had much to drink at all. It hadn't mattered much, as they'd made up for him in his absence, ensuring every other drink was a toast to "ERIK! THE TROLL COMMANDER!"

As they blundered their way back out of the bar and onto the street, they tumbled into each other like floppy puppies unable to keep their own feet. Hermione laughed, high and loud, as she careened first into Rabastan's shoulder and then bounced back into Antonin pinball fashion. The Russian barely grabbed her coat by the elbow before she teetered back over, headed for the ground. Wheeling blindly, she righted herself, favoring the older man with a blinding grin before shoving her hand through Rabastan's arm and tucking it against his crooked elbow.

He smiled down at the top of her head, "Doing alright there?"

She shrugged as she looked back up at him, eyes wide and bright in the reflected lamplight, "I'm pissed"

A rumble came from their left, "I think we all are, kotonik"

She hummed in her assent, "But I'm more pissed than usual"

"Me too," agreed Rabastan, placing his hand over hers as they weaved their way down the street.

"Which way to the hotel?" asked Hermione, head turning back and forth. Antonin grunted.

"I don't want to go back yet," came the pouty reply, and Rabastan folded his lips downwards forcefully to keep from laughing at the older man's tone.

"Neither do I," he agreed, and he felt Hermione shrug next to him.

"So, we won't go back. We'll just walk for a bit"

"Walk...stumble..." muttered Antonin, and Hermione growled.

"You're just as pissed as I am. I saw how much you drank," she pointed a finger at the other man, "You don't get to make commentary on how I ambulate"

"Merlin, Granger. Twelve drinks in and you can still dig up three syllable words. You must be a lot of fun at parties," teased Rabastan. The was an undignified squeak from his elbow, and a sudden wrenching as she attempted to pull herself free, tottering dangerously to the side in the process.

"Just because I don't have the vocabulary of a five year old doesn't mean you have to make fun of me," she griped back, pointing at him with her free hand. Rabastan tugged her back towards him and onto both feet with his arm, patting her hand on his elbow.

"Of course not," he placated, steering her back onto the path. A few paces ahead, Antonin glanced back at them over his shoulder before jerking his head to the right. A paved pathway wound off the cobbled street and into a park, lined with wooden benches and full trees.

"Ooooh, a park! I wonder if they have swings?" exclaimed Hermione, and Rabastan chuckled.

"It doesn't really strike me as the swings sort of park"

She snorted inelegantly, "And what would you know of the sort of parks that have swings?"

"I do have eyes," he replied, "And I happen to know that this park said something about an open air museum. Which means probably no swings"

She gave off a petulant noise, falling silent as they rambled down the gravelled pathways, following it's course as it meandered through the open green fields. Antonin's gait shifted between scuffling along the loose rock and confidently pounding ahead of them, disappearing into the darkness before them. Hermione sighed as he faded away, shaking her head in irritation.

"Come on, we'd better hurry up. I hate to explain that I lost him in Norway when he's supposed to be in a room in Gloucester," she muttered, tugging at his arm to pick up the pace. Rabastan chuckled, stepping a little more lightly as they hurried into the night around them.

Coming around around a corner, they stopped abruptly, almost running into the Russian man who was looking sharply into the distance. He was still, eyes narrowed with a hand pressed to his forehead as if shielding the light from above away from his face. It was so out of place in the twilight that it appeared comical, and Hermione gave a small giggle as she shook loose of his arm.

"Antonin?" she called out, and he turned to look at them.

"I see something," he replied, "A church"

Rabastan raised an eyebrow, tucking his hands into his pockets again as he strolled closer, "A church?"

Antonin nodded, before taking off again, navigating the streets as if he'd known them his entire life. Hermione shot Rabastan an alarmed look before taking off after the older man, stumbling over some small rocks as she tried to catch up with his longer stride. He cursed, and picked up a jog to keep up with them.

They wove through a neighborhood, passing by a hospital and a long building, before curving around and dropping them onto a gravel path below a wooden building. Hermione gasped next to him, freezing in place, "Look at this place!"

It was an ancient building, tall, wooden with a multi-tiered gabled roof, and carved serpent heads reaching towards the sky. A prominent cross stood tall above the small entry door, lifted off the road with a stone supporting wall. It was exactly what one would expect to see in the country that birthed a race as mysterious and robust as the vikings.

"I want to go inside"

"Inside?" scoffed Rabastan, and Hermione nodded in agreement at his indignation next to him.

"I'm pretty sure it's locked for the night," she added, though her feet took her closer to the entrance.

"How did you even see this place?" asked Rabastan, looking at the tall hedges behind them, blocking view of the church from the street.

"There was a light," responded Antonin, as if that explained it all.

"The door is definitely locked," came Hermione's muffled voice from the alcove in front of the entrance.

"Are you a witch or not?" grumbled back Antonin, and a curly head of hair leaned out from around the wall to favor him with an angry scowl.

"I'm not going to get arrested because you saw a church," she snapped back.

"We're not going to get arrested," he growled, "We won't use any lights, and we'll leave before anyone even knows we're there"

"Antonin..."

"Please, Hermione," Antonin's voice was soft, supplicating, and Rabastan could see the moment the witch relented, her shoulders drooping.

"Fine," she grumbled, waving the two men closer, "Ala...Aloham..."

"Are you sober enough to be doing magic?" asked Rabastan, only partly teasing. She favored him with a withering look.

"No. But Antonin here HAS to go inside the church," she muttered back before swishing her wand once more, "Alohomora"

There was a definitive click, and the door eased inward. Hermione gave a small noise of delight, before pushing it open further, the two men crowding in behind her.

It was a simple church, with wooden pews and a ceiling shaped like a cross. The altar was decorated with the typical gaudy altarpiece and faunt, adding sharp contrast to the rest of the plain room. Antonin glanced at them before he approached the front of the church, kneeling before the altar, head dropped in supplication.

Hermione tugged at Rabastan's elbow, guiding him into one of the pews in the back of the church, wincing slightly at the rasping sound of the door swinging shut behind them, "He'll be a moment"

"Does he do this often?"

She shook her head, "Almost never. Not that I take him to many churches"

Rabastan hummed in response, looking around, "Do you go to church?"

Hermione chuckled low in her throat, speaking softly as if to preserve the sanctity of their current refuge, "No. My mother was an atheist, and I took after her too much"

He glanced down at the top of her head, curious at her sudden discussion about her parents, "And your father?"

She glanced up at him, tender smile on her lips, "Dad was religious. Or, he was when he was younger. He was American, actually"

Rabastan tilted his head to the side at the revelation, "American?"

She nodded, "Grew up in the States. Georgia I think. Raised christian, one of the protestant religions. The one that speaks in tongues. Pentecostal?"

"Speaks in tongues?" he wrinkled his nose, and she grinned at him.

"Its a fugue state where they whip themselves into such a frenzy they sound like they're speaking another language. Fascinating, but absolutely terrifying to a child," she replied, "He took me once when I was a child. We were visiting his family, and they decided I needed more Jesus in my life. I was so scared, I hid under the pew crying the second half of the service. My mom yelled at him when we got home, and we never went back"

Rabastan chuckled next to her, "So. that was your only experience with religion?"

"No, he tried to take me to some church in England too. But he hated it, and then HE never wanted to go back. By then I was almost 9, and was pretty comfortable with a life that didn't include mystical invisible persons in the sky that controlled everything but still allowed bad things to happen," she answered, tilting her head to rest it on the back of the bench, staring at the ceiling, "And then I got my letter to Hogwarts"

"And suddenly magic was real," he teased her, and she smiled, chuckling again.

"And suddenly magic was real," she rolled her head, looking at him in the soft light of the church, "What about you? Your parents weren't religious I assume"

Rabastan shook his head, leaning forward to clasp his hands between his knees, "No. Mum and Father were more the worship the earth sorts, mostly out of duty and less out of belief"

"The twice a year Christians," she murmured back, and he glanced at her again quizzically.

"There are several holidays in the Christian religion, but the two major ones are Christmas – Winter Solstice – and Easter – Spring equinox. Twice a year Christians go to church on those two days, but rarely any other weekends," she clarified, "Sounds like your parents practiced when it was expected, but didn't keep tradition the rest of the year"

He nodded, "That's about right. We'd hold the festivals as expected, but in between we didn't hold faith in anything. My parents sent me to a Catholic church once, and to a temple and a mosque to experience them"

Hermione snorted, leaning back again, "I doubt that was to make you more empathetic"

"No," he agreed, "It was to show me what simple people muggles were. That they would pray to something that doesn't exist to help better their pitiful lives"

"Well, I think everyone has moments of weakness. Even magic doesn't solve everything," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest and rubbing her arms at the rapidly cooling temperature.

"That's probably true," he agreed, and she snorted again.

"Of course it's true. Magic has to follow rules and laws just like every other scientific principle. There are limitations as to what you can do," she answered, tone slipping into that of a lecture, "Otherwise, we'd all just make everything we own into mounds of gold, and none of us would be richer or better than the other"

"Now, that's not true," he answered, "There's still birth. Purebloods, halfbloods, muggles"

"Well, I suppose you're right. We humans do always find ways to divide ourselves, even if they are stupidly arbitrary," she answered with a roll of her eyes.

"Birth isn't arbitrary," he argued, and she shook her head at him, sighing.

"It isn't rational, either. You were born to a white, magical family that lives in a developed western world by winning the greatest lottery you never even signed up for," she answered, eyes landing on his once more, "You didn't choose to be a Lestrange. The universe handed that to you on a silver platter. The great kismet of birth, and you just managed to beat the overwhelming odds that you would be born dark skinned, in a third world country, as a muggle who's most pressing concern was whether or not you could get enough water for your family today"

He frowned sharply at her, and she raised her hand, "Don't get me wrong. I beat the odds as well. Perhaps not as well as you did," she gave him a conciliatory smile, "but I'm still here, with you, visiting a strangely beautiful church in a fantastically beautiful country, and not fighting off bedbugs in a shack somewhere"

They fell silent once more, and he turned his head forward, watching as Antonin crossed his right hand over his body in a simple gesture. There was a churning in his gut that wanted to argue with her words, but an even more alarming buzzing in his head that had to acknowledge the truth behind them. That forced him to face that fact that he hadn't chosen his family, he'd simply been born into it. And if that one distinction that held him above others was truly a stroke of indiscrimination, then who exactly was he to claim that he was better than anyone else?

Hermione nudged him with her knee, and he glanced over to see the older man standing next to them once more. There was a peace about his face, and he nodded at Rabastan as he stood and slipped out of the pew. No words needed to be spoken as they exited the church and made their way back onto the empty streets of Lillehammer.


	30. Chapter 30

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but hearing the pained groan Hermione made as they exited the Inn the following morning did make him feel a little better about his own current state of being. Sharp, piercing pain, accompanied by a focused throbbing that mimicked his pulse a little too closely, was strengthened by the dazzling morning sunshine and routine hustle and bustle of city life. Horns honking, people shouting and pushing by them, all seeming to have the sole purpose of driving him to the brink.

Wincing as the door to the van slammed shut behind him, he burrowed into his seat, tugging the collar of his coat upwards towards his ears. He glared briefly at Antonin as the noise rose again when the older man entered the vehicle as well, and was favored with the forks for his efforts. A low moan of protestation crested from the passenger seat before being muffled, fabric shifting against the leather seat.

"I don't suppose you were intuitive enough to pack some hangover potions?" Rabastan asked in a hoarse voice just above a whisper. A faint, derisive snort was his only response and Antonin grunted next to him.

All three passengers winced as the driver's door slammed shut, their escort noisily settling into his own seat. Rabastan cleared his throat, catching Erik's eyes in the rear view mirror and favoring him with a sickly smile, "Good morning"

Hermione sat up straight in her seat, her own eyes pinned on the older man, "What's wrong?"

Rabastan wrinkled his nose, looking between the two of them. Erik glanced over his shoulder at him, mouth drawn into a thin line, before addressing Hermione, "We aren't going to Bergen today"

From her profile he could see her lips pull down into a frown, "Why not? Where are we going?"

Erik sighed, running a hand through hair that he could see was disheveled already, "We have to go north to Jotunheimen. There's unrest amongst the Trolls, and being as we're the closest, I'm... WE'RE being sent to investigate"

"Is that wise?" asked Rabastan, eyebrows creeping upwards. Erik bestowed him with a quirk of his lips.

"No. Not even a little bit. But for some reason the Queen thought you would be appropriate companions for this venture," he answered, disbelief tinting the edges of his tone. Antonin snorted besides him again, muttering something in Russian. Hermione let out a brisk puff of laughter, stopping as sharply as it began.

"I suppose I'm flattered?" she answered, and Erik grinned a little more genuinely at her.

"I may have left out some information about a certain church being broken into last night," he replied teasingly. Hermione grimaced, head peaking around the seat as she glared at Antonin.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she responded lightly, and the blonde guffawed. Shaking his head, Erik reached into a bag in the front seat and pulled out three vials filled with blue liquid.

"I suspect you will need these if we're going to survive the day," he replied. Rabastan didn't hesitate to down the foul liquid in one gulp, watching the other two do the same with wrinkled noses. Vials emptied, Erik nodded sharply, and started up the van.

"So what exactly is going on?" asked Hermione, settling back into her seat. Erik shrugged inelegantly next to her.

"We're not entirely sure. Several hikers reported cryptid sightings – for us that normally means trolls. And a few campers have been reported missing in the last few weeks. It's not unusual for humans to get lost from time to time, but the frequency has been much higher than normal. Yesterday a wizard who had been visiting the park reported that it felt magically charged," he answered, "And we take those reports very seriously"

"Human magic?" asked Antonin next to him, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. Erik glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

"No, Troll magic," came the grim reply, and the Russian sucked air in through his teeth. Rabastan glanced over at him questioningly, and Antonin dipped his head.

"Troll magic is old magic. Much older than human magic, older than most magical creatures. It is one of the first recorded for sentient beings. It's strong, elemental magic, tied deeply to the earth. Think like house elf magic, but with fewer bindings," he explained. Hermione hummed from up front.

"There is very little known about Trolls and their magic, so it's hard to say how powerful or dangerous it is exactly. Though, truthfully that's as much because very few humans have survived direct encounters with Trolls, and certainly none in modern times," she added.

"That doesn't exactly bring me comfort," answered Rabastan.

"Well, they HAVE been defeated in the past," replied Hermione, Erik nodding next to her.

"We were able to move them to Jotounheim," he continued, "Which is where they are contained now. But I certainly wouldn't wish to face one alone"

"So, instead, you get us. Two convicts – one without the use of his magic – and a muggleborn, not even from your country" replied Rabastan, ignoring the way the other two tensed at his statement.

"I prefer to see it as I get a war hero, two talented duelists, and no civilian casualties" cam the wry repsponse. Antonin chuckled as Rabastan let out a puff of amusement.

"Erik?"came Hermiones quetioning voice, "It appears we're going... Well, supernaturally fast.."

There was a contemplative hum from the driver's seat, "Yes. Well, there may be some modifications to the ministry owned vehicles"

"Modifications?" responded Hermione, mirth coloring her tone.

"Let's just say there are some aftermarket additions," he answered, fingers strumming against the steering wheel.

"So, the long drive yesterday..." supplied Rabastan, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back into his seat. Erik's head shifted, shoulders drawing up towards his ears.

"Consider it an interrogation," he answered and Rabastan snorted. Hermione chuckled in the back of her throat, shaking her head.

"Exactly what are we expected to do?" queeried Antonin.

"Well," answered Erik slowly, "That is harder to answer. The sightings are mostly near the valley of Dumdalen, and seem to be mostly based on intimidation. People report the feeling of being watched, or a stranger suddenly appearing out of nowhere and warning them to leave. Campers have had their belongings stolen, or tents torn and campsites destroyed"

"That seems... Unusual for a race that's supposed to be more brawn than brains" replied Hermione. Erik nodded.

"Agreed. Trolls have been known to take human form, but the interactions seem far too reserved for a race mostly known for brute force"

Rabastan glanced out the window next to him, mulling over the situation as he watched the countryside race by. He had limited experience with cryptids, and as a bright but lazy student he'd had even less interest in the care of magical creatures classes, which meant he had no idea how what they were about to encounter. That was, assuming of course that Trolls fell under the category of "creature" and not "being". It was an odd distinction, and perhaps one that didn't even apply in Norway, but important when it came to how non-humans were treated. Creatures were treated as non-sentient, and could be considered personal property in the right situation which allowed for more lenient application of laws regarding treatment and care. Beings, on the other hand, were considered sentient, and "of human intelligence", meaning they were subject to laws about rights and welfare. However, as non-humans, they were held to stringent standards when it came to their actions against humans, and lesser standards when it came to the requirements for providing for their basic needs.

He shivered violently as a sharp tingling sensation ran over his skin, wrinkling his nose at the more violent reactions from his companions – a shout from Hermione and a guttural noise from Antonin. He was surprised, however, to see the witch with her wand drawn and pointed at Erik's head.

"Easy, little witch," came the Norwegian's soothing voice, raising one hand off the steering wheel.

"What the everliving fuck was that?" she growled, causing Rabastans eyebrows to creep up his forehead. Erik sighed.

"They're containment wards," he replied, chagrin coloring his voice.

Antonin grumbled in Russian next to him, and Hermione sucked in a breath, "Tell me the truth"

"What's going on?" asked Rabastan, concern washing over him. If Antonin was high strung, nothing good could be afoot. Hermione glared at Erik before turning her gaze over to him.

"The wards we just passed through," she snapped, "they limit movement, and magic. We are all, now, barely above squib status. And we can't leave this area without the help of our good friend here"

"They're designed to control the Trolls," protested Erik, "We have limited information on how Troll magic works, so the wards were non-specific, designed as a dampening blanket to control any and all magical beings in this region"

"You are keeping far too many secrets," rumbled Antonin, brow furrowed and corners of his mouth flattened into a severe line.

"Not secrets," responded the blonde, "Just... Information that's on a need-to-know basis"

Hermione turned to lock eyes with Rabastan, and then Antonin before looking back at Erik, "Antonin's bracelet barely contains his magic as it is. Rabastan is weeks out of a solitary prison that is known for driving it's occupants insane. And I have short temper and a shifty wand hand. From now on, it's all need-to-know"

Erik nodded, the movement stiff, showing a restraint that indicated for the first time he realized he may be in over his head with his current companions. He turned the wheel to the right, easing the car off to the side of the road, "Well, I suppose now would be a good time to tell you we aren't driving any further"

Rabastan glanced out the window at the rocky landscape around them, eyebrows drawing up once more as he took in the bleak, mountainous terrain, "I'm going to warrant a guess there aren't any magical beings to carry us"

Meeting his eyes in the mirror, Erik shook his head, "No, from here we walk"

Hermione sighed, tucking her wand back up her sleeve, "Pull any tricks like that on us again, and you'll be the only one walking"

There was a muted chuckle from the older man, and he bobbed his head nervously at her, "I believe you"

Stumbling out of the van, Rabastan blinked at the weak sunlight overhead. To the east were densely collecting clouds, that appeared to be drifting their way. He frowned as he looked down as his attire – dress shoes, light trousers, button down shirt and a wool peacoat.

"I'm hardly dressed for hiking," he groused, looking over at Hermione who was transfiguring Antonin's own clothing into something more suitable for their current situation.

"Honestly, Rabastan. Are you a wizard or not?" she retorted mockingly. He frowned at her before loosing his own wand and altering his clothing.

"Are you going to be like this for the whole day?" he replied, buttoning up his newly formed jacket.

"Only if I have to listen to you whinging," she muttered, pulling a cap down over her hair. He huffed at her before turning to their guide.

"Best be off then"

"Yes. It's a... Well, it's a bit of a distance from here," said the Norwegian, tugging at his own sleeve.

"Well, we're not getting any closer by standing about here," responded Hermione as she checked Antonin over once more, eyes lingering on his bracelet before she handed him a pair of gloves.

"And the sooner we get there, the sooner Granger can stop being a complete twat," countered Rabastan. Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes at him and jamming her fists back into her pockets before striding after Erik.

"Just remember Bast, I'm the only other person here who knows how to drive. If we lose Erik, who's to say we didn't just lose you, too?"

Rabastan frowned, and looked over at Antonin who was smirking at him, "She wouldn't"

"Do you want to test that theory?"

He suddenly felt the urge to step a little longer and a little faster to catch up.


	31. Chapter 31

He was unimpressed by the frosted edges to the wind that wound it's way through them as they hiked across the landscape. While the constant movement helped warm them up under their gear, the ugly little zephyrs grasped at the small beads of sweat that popped up, stealing them away and replacing them with sharp stinging along his cheek bones and neck. It was an intimation that summer had long since left them, and winter was closer than they thought.

They'd passed the last of the rugged fields a while back, skirting the edges of a glacial lake that looked as terrifying as it did inviting with it's bleak, azure depths. Stone ridges were now clambering out of the ground, rising around them with increasing frequency as they approached their destination. There was a clattering sound to their left, and his eyes flickered upwards at the edifice beside them, only catching a small spray of pebbles as they scattered over the edge towards their little group.

"I don't like this" came the deep, Russian tinted voice from behind him, and he nodded unconsciously. The trail was leading them into a pass that was closed in on both sides, provoking a feeling of claustrophobia. His eyes swept back to the right, glancing at their suspiciously silent companion. Hermione's face was drawn, and slightly pale, lips pressed into a thin line as she trekked next to them, arms wrapped around her waist defensively. Her eyes flickered over towards him as if she could feel the weight of his gaze, lips bending downwards. His own brows furrowed, questioning wordlessly but her only response was to toss her head forward, gesturing back to the path they were following.

He turned back sharply, stuttering in his step as he saw a figure walking towards them. Thus far they had been alone on their trip, no signs of people – muggle or magical alike. The appearance of a new person jolted him into awareness of how potentially precarious their situation was. Regardless of their talent, and their strength, they had no idea what they were walking into, and the dampening spell that coated the region nullified any advantages they might have had. He rubbed the tips of his fingers together, as if trying to conjure the energy needed to create a protective spell by touch alone.

"Easy" murmured their Norwegian guide, and Rabastan rocked his lower jaw back and forth, attempting to relieve the anxiety that was climbing steadily through his chest. This was, after all, a public park. There was no reason to believe that anyone else wouldn't be there.

Except something wasn't right. It stole over him like the creeping feeling that slid across your skin when you were being watched. A painting that wasn't quite all aligned on the same point of view. Askew. The newcomer walked just a little too perfectly, wearing clothes that seemed to suck all the colors of the world around them into it rather than just be black. Their hair was shimmering a near white color, and once they'd drawn even the smile they shared was full of too many teeth. Rabastan fiddled with the holster on the inside of his left wrist, knowing it would do him little good.

"Afternoon, friend" greeted Erik, first in English and then in Norwegian. The other person smiled a little larger, drawing something akin to a shudder from Rabastan as more teeth were revealed. Their voice, as they spoke, sounded like rocks grinding against each other, in a language he couldn't identify. The air felt clammy around them, sticky in spite of the cold. His eyes shifted over to Hermione once more, watching as her nose wrinkled at the sound.

Erik crossed his arms over his chest, unconsciously standing at attention with his feet shoulder width apart, evenly weighted as the man – or perhaps it was a woman? - spoke. He nodded at whatever statement was being made, before responding in the same odd tongue, though his words weren't as roughened. He felt his brows furrow downwards as he watched the two, trying to decipher their conversation. It was unnerving being left out, but if Erik's face was anything to go by, it was not going well.

He jumped as he felt something pressed into the palm of his hand, and glanced down at the white piece of plastic that had been placed there. Looking up, he watched Hermione place an identical one into her own ear. He frowned, looking down at the small bud before mimicking her actions. His eyebrows raised as Erik's voice came through clearly, words translated from into English seamlessly.

"George's invention," she answered his unspoken question, "Designed to instantly translate any language"

"Even this language?" he replied, tipping his head at the two conversationalists. As if replying him, garbled words came in through the earpiece.

"...Not seek help..." half translated, half unknown, but better than knowing nothing.

"Only some Trollish is known. However, George is a genius. The translators will adjust based on responses, and increase its own word library"

She stepped closer, voice low so as not to disturb their guide and the foreigner. Rabastan glanced back at the mysterious person. It wasn't how he would have expected a Troll to look. Perhaps he was more used to the fables that portrayed them as hulking beasts, with crooked noses and too large teeth designed to grind their enemies into dust. Though, he mused as he glanced at the entirely too large mouth, perhaps that last observation wasn't so far off from the truth.

"We are not here to bother you. We have been sent due to disturbances in the area," came Erik's placating tone.

"Disturbances?" It was the crunch of a boot against disintegrating gravel, and the warning that underlaid it caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. Granger apparently had the same reaction, unconsciously taking a step away from the silver haired being.

"Persons missing," responded the blonde, and the Troll responded with a hiss that echoed off the walls around them.

"They were trespassing"

"This is a national park," came Erik's automatic reply, and Rabastan winced at the tone-deaf answer. Clearly their guide had never been tortured for saying the wrong thing.

"This is our home," it was a growl, deep and guttural, and the rocks around them vibrated. Hermione frowned sharply, eyes dancing up the cliff next to them, and Rabastan followed her gaze. A shadow darted across the wall, and he cursed under his breath.

"It is both," came the firm reply, and the Troll growled louder.

"Erik," Rabastan warned, stepping away from the wall, and deeper into the pass, trying to avoid their visitor.

"It is our HOME. You have pushed us from every place that was ever ours. You corralled us into this meager land, with it's pitiful bounties, and insisted this is where we live. You bound us with magic that controls where we can go, and what we can do. You insist this is where we live, and then you tell us it is only ours if we share it," the Troll's face was twisted into a snarl, pointed canines flashing over the edge of it's lips. The perfection of its features clashed with the terror that flashed up out of his gut, and Rabastan found himself stumbling backwards to get away. Hermione's constitution appeared only slightly stronger, her face pale as she attempted to stand her ground, her knees visibly shaking. From where he stood, he could only see the top of Antonin's head, but it was shaking left to right as if saying no.

"Friend, we're not trying to deny you a home. We, too, have to share with humans"

"WE ARE NOT FRIENDS!" It was a clap of thunder, the roar that comes before a tornado, the rumble that precedes an earthquake. The earth heaved under them and there was a shout – one he realized was coming from Hermione. Looking up, shadowy figures lined the rocks above them, and he cursed. This was old magic, elemental magic, true magic in its purest form. As weak as they were, they wouldn't be able to fight this.

Hermione seemed to come to the same realization that he did, and he caught a look at the fear on her face as she turned towards him. She pointed, deeper into the pass, and he turned wordlessly, taking off at a run. He could hear the crunch of her shoes on the ground behind him, following him as he fled the scene.

The roar intensified, ground shifting under them, and he slipped, striking one knee on the ground before jumping up again. He felt a hand slip into his, and suddenly they were further down the pass. Rocks flew overhead, and he tugged on Hermione's hand, apparating them as far as he could with their dampened magic just as she had. She shouted as a stone bounced off her temple, tugging him to the left before leaping them forward once more.

They alternated apparitions as they leapfrogged away from the Trolls, jumping as far and as fast as their limitations would allow. As the vibrations lessened beneath their feet, Hermione pointed to a shelf above their head, and the next apparition took them there. Five steps further, and the ground had quieted. Another jump and they stood at the mouth of a cave tucked into the hillside, dark but still less foreboding than what they had left behind them.

"Lumos" she muttered beside him, conjuring a weak ball of light as she tugged him into the cavern behind him. He grimaced, but followed, not wanting to be left behind to face if anything had followed them.

The cave was shallow, unremarkable, and fortunately uninhabited. A short entrance opening into a round grotto that sported a few branches and stones, but no signs of large or small animals. He heard Hermione sigh, before she turned around to face him. He raised his brow, tracing the blood that was trickling down the side of her face with his eyes.

"Are you ok?"

She shook her head, swiping at her forehead with her sleeve, smearing red as it went "Fine. Just a knick. I'll be ok" Her gaze flickered down and she frowned, pointing at his knee, "You aren't, though"

At her gesture, he looked down, grimacing at the crimson puddling around his foot from under his pant leg. Adrenaline beginning to ebb from his body, he could feel the sharp, stinging pain in his knee followed by a deeper throb. The fine hairs on his leg tickled as blood trickled down it, and he looked around their haven, trying to find a place to sit so he could take in the damage. Hermione made a clucking noise, before herding him towards a large rock.

"Sit" she ordered, shoving a palm into his waistline. He grabbed her wrist, startled, even as his knees folded and he landed firmly on the granite.

"For crying out loud, Granger," he grumbled, shifting on the hard surface, "I'm not one of you charges. You can use your words with me"

"That's debatable," she muttered back, looking pointedly down at where he still held her arm in his hand. He glowered at her before releasing it.

"Have you ever tried to just, I don't know, ask people to do things for you?"

"If I just asked people to do things, you'd still be in Azkaban" she retorted, kneeling and rolling up his soiled pant leg. He let out a puff of air.

"Low blow"

"But not untrue," she answered, nose wrinkling as she uncovered his wound. Rabastan paled at the mangled flesh – not the worst he'd ever seen, but the skin was split open, muscle visible beneath it. Blood streamed slowly but steadily, flowing in a rivulet down his leg, "How opposed to scars are you?"

He snorted, "Pardon?"

She sighed, tilting her head up to look him in the eye, "I have dittany on me, but it will leave a scar. If we leave it, it will stop bleeding eventually, but it's at risk for infection. I don't know how long we're going to be out here..."

She trailed off, and he frowned at this hint of fear in her voice, "Dittany is fine"

She nodded, silent as she reached into a pocket and pulled out a small bag. Opening it, she thrust her free hand in to the elbow, rummaging a moment before pulling out the vial. The corner of his mouth quirked up, "Aren't we prepared"

"You never know when a short trip is going to turn into a six month camping expedition where you're cut off from everyone and everything," she responded morosely, carefully applying the solvent to his skin. Understanding flickered through his body even as his flesh hissed and sizzled, knitting itself back together. Body healing, Rabastan leaned forward, grabbing her wrist in his hand once more, pulling her attention back to his face.

"We're not going to get stuck out here, Hermione" he said, gently.

"You don't know that," she argued, shaking her head and attempting to pull her arm free. He gave her a firm tug, before stroking the back of her arm with his thumb.

"Erik and Antonin will be looking for us. If they can't find us, they'll find someone who can. We'll make it out of here" he responded, catching her eyes with his. Her expression was tense, small lines present at the edges of her lips and eyelashes, but she nodded, conceding without believing. He released her and she stood abruptly.

"We should find some wood to make a fire. And some place to sleep. I'll take first watch," came her terse directions, turning to walk around the cave. Rabastan sighed, it was going to be a long night.


End file.
